


The Fairy Tale We Dreamed

by Daytondreamer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar lives, Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes, Drama, Emotional Infidelity, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Infidelity, Multi ship fic, Point of veiw shift, Smut, Some angst, Taking responsibility, and good stuff, but he's a cripple, enduring hardships, its mostly about the kids, sibling fun, winter is coming, young relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2018-11-09 23:45:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 72,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daytondreamer/pseuds/Daytondreamer
Summary: "Growing up is losing some illusions in order to acquire others."– Virginia Woolf





	1. Chapter 1

[](http://imgur.com/MylNCdR)

The birds sang their songs all whilst fluttering and swirling around each other. Playing and twittering through the vast blue plane that was the sky.

The day truly was brilliant, the sun heated Dany’s skin and she felt she could slip into a nap without meaning to. If it were any hotter she'd wish for rain, but right now it is absolutely perfect King’s Landing weather.

She felt a pinch on her nose and opened one eye. It was no surprise who it was, the next second Dany swatted Jon’s hand away and he laughed as he took a seat beside her on the mezzanine.

“Too much sun and you'll turn pink.”

“I'd rather be pink and happy than white and miserable.” Dany closes her eyes again, relishing the summer heat.

“You'll be a blushing bride then.” The weight of Jon’s delivery on that statement turned Dany’s chest into an open pit of dread.

“No.” She combats gently, her eyes are still closed. She knows she cannot bear to look at his face. “I'll be a daughter doing her duty for her house.”

The feather touch of his hand wrapping around hers brings a sorrowful skip to Dany’s heart.

She squeezes Jon’s hand just as his thumb strokes over her knuckles. “The Starks are a cold and miserable people, you know I’ll be coming back here, to home and to you, as often as possible. I'll make excuses… any and all kinds of excuses to come back.”

“They will arrive today, Daenerys.” Jon speaks like it is the coming of war. “A rider has spotted their host just a few leagues from us.”

Dany finally opens her eyes and takes in the soft melancholy edges of her nephew's face. “It is not the beginning of the end, just a new chapter.” She tries to say convincingly but there is not even a sparkle of hope etched to his face. “It will always be you I love.”

“And that will always not be enough.” He says, eyes downcast and hurt. “I can go on living with your love forever but I will also be miserable without you near. Knowing who you’ll be marrying is just another bleeding stab in my back. The heir of Winterfell is a hot headed imbecile who hasn't inherited an ounce of his father’s honor. It is the only redeemable quality of house Stark and he doesn't have it.”

The day is so lovely, but now all Dany can feel is a cloud bearing over her and Jon and it is in the shape of a wolf. She leans up from the chaise and swings her legs over the side so she is face to face with Jon. “I'm marrying an idiot, girls are forced to marry idiots everyday, but it's what must be done for peace. Think of Rhaegar and what war has done to him. He's stuck in a chair for the rest of his life with maimed legs. He must know with confidence that the Starks will remain loyal. The betrothal has been set for years, Rhaegar cannot go back on his word. He cannot live another war.”

“I can fight.” Jon says bitterly. “I can fight better than anyone else in the yard. Arthur Dayne has trained me day and night so that I am the best. I am ready to fight in wars if that is really what it comes to.”

Dany takes his face between her hands to stop his lunacy. “You're angry and you don't mean that. I'm going to marry Robb Stark in the Sept of Baelor on the coming moon and you are going to befriend him, like it or not.”

“And if I'd rather die than live out a lie?”

“Don't,” Dany warns as she takes her fingers into his dark curls. “You'll live to be a king and rule a realm that stands as one for you. That is your destiny.”

“I won't be kind to him, and if he causes you any harm I'll kill him. No mercy will be shown to a man who hurts girls.”

A sharp smack comes from behind, Aegon is there with his hand splayed out of the sand brick of the red Keep. The sun suits him today as it always does, making his dark tanned skin glow and his short white hair shine. “Am I interrupting the final tryst? The farewell? The fiery conclusion to Jon and Dany’s forbidden affair?”

“The only thing you've gotten right is that you're not welcome.”

Dany never understood why Jon despises Aegon the way he does. He is taking the black for him so he may rule… it is an incredible sacrifice.

Aegon shrugs and leans back on the heated castle brick. “I'll be leaving with Dany when we go north and you'll be here, alone, dying in the heat you always complain about. You'll miss me, Jon. You’ll miss her more but you'll miss me too. Admit it.”

“Perhaps when all my years have passed and I'm laying on my deathbed I will admit it, but now all I can do is curse the gods.” Jon turned to Dany with rage burning in his eyes. “How could they make your fate more cruel than the one Aegon has chosen for himself? At least there is glory to be had at the wall.”

“Wrong,” Aegon interjects. “I am swearing off glory as well and all to keep you safe Jon. You are very welcome, fellow prince.”

“Aegon…” Dany tries to keep the pity from her voice but it seeps in and Aegon’s keen ears hear it.

“It is no trouble to me. This is what I want.” He assures and then laughs with his bright contagious smile. “All things aside, either of our fates cannot be worse than Rhaenys’.” Aegon’s smile falters for a mere second in small mourning for his sister. “Gods I miss her, but it is funny how she was made to marry the most queer man in the seven kingdoms. She was so scared for her wedding night as well! Oh the poor girl.”

Dany wonders if Renly Baratheon has even tried to do his duty with her. It has been a year and she still has yet to carry a child. A misplaced chill runs down Dany’s back. She will be required to have a child within the year too…

“Rhaenys is happy in Storm’s End. She writes on how she's taken up fishing. Fishing? Of all things.” Jon says bewildered, his brows pushing together. “I wish to visit her… I will when I have the time and then she can show me just how she does it. I am interested to see.”

“We all are, brother.” Aegon says and then sighs, “in time I wager Dany and I will be happy too.. in time..”

Dany knows the tight frown Jon wears, she knows his stomach is twisting and the bile in his throat rising. He wants them to stay.

Stay forever and live in their youth to do as they always could. “This won't be the last time we see each other.”

“Of course not Dany, I'll see you both at dinner.”

“You know what I mean, Aegon. When we all part… it won't be for the last time. You both promise me it won't be for the last time.” Dany eyes them as she waited for a response.

“I promise.” Jon says and then Aegon a little louder.

“But you guys really, really, should visit me at the wall. You know I renounce everything. My title won't mean shit and I’ll have to work up the rankings myself… so I can't afford leisurely visits to King’s Landing whenever I want.”

“We will visit.” Dany vows. “Perhaps I'll visit often. I'll be close in Winterfell won't I?”

Aegon shrugs. “I don't know northern geography well… it's all barren snows I imagine.”

Dany didn't really know either, but she would learn soon enough she supposed. Jon rises and Aegon turns back to the archway inside the castle. Soon Dany sees it is Viserys marching in like he is on some important mission. Dany stands at his arrival too when she sees him.

“Vis,” Aegon regards in a friendly manner, but it doesn't wipe the rotten look off of Viserys' face.

And then the bells start ringing.

“They're here.” Viserys glowers. “Northmen and the stench of dog.”

Dany takes a breath to settle her heart and her eyes find Jon’s. He looks just as grave. It’s happening.

Dany has her fingers stroking the sides of her dress as she stands in the red keep. Rhaegar is of course at his rightful place in the Iron Throne and his sons are to his right.

Jon is a sleek black tunic while his single shoulder cape is velvet and regal in a deep red colour. Aegon stands beside him in a more subdued ensemble, opting for all black and details of black velvet dragons are on his chest. Dany looks proudly at him for it will be one of the last times he is able to wear dragons.

Dany is on her King’s left with their brother, Viserys. Her dress is made of light silks to accommodate the heated climate. The waist cinches high and the skirts of the dress are simple, light, and drape from her like a flowy column. Dragon head broaches hold the dress on her over her shoulders and she knows this dress was made to be plain and nonthreatening. She is meeting her betrothed and it would do no good to be in bold red and black. Fire and blood.

The doors open and a party smaller than what Dany would expect, enters. Three people. That is all, just three plainly dressed people.

The first is Lord Stark she can tell by the long solemn face everyone talks about, though he looks more than solemn now before her. He looks grievous and sweaty from the road. To his right is his son, though there is little of his father in him. Stocky and a head of auburn curls, Robb Stark does not look plagued with sorrow like Ned but he looks stern.

There is a third member and it shocks Dany that it is a little girl. She has thin brown hair manipulated into some sort of dilapidated braid and her dress looks soiled from riding. Her curtsy is clumsy and unpracticed as well.

Dany watches as Rhaegar nods for his audience to rise, then her eyes flick to Jon. He does not look to Ned Stark like an uncle. He hardly looks to him at all, she see the hate in his eyes burrowing into Robb Stark, but the dolt doesn't even notice.

There are some not so pleasant formalities exchanged between Lord Stark and Rhaegar before the others in the room are introduced. Dany’s betrothed takes a step forward and does as he is bid to do. “Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell.” As he finishes and steps back a shock of blue flickers right to Dany.

He sees her and she him before her eyes are ready to look over to the disheveled girl stepping out. “Arya Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark.” She echoes loudly in the Keep.

Rhaegar nods to the Starks with a gentle smile gracing his lips before he is turned to Jon for him to begin.

Jon begrudgingly gives his titles, Aegon does so with a smile, Viserys snaps his out like an entitled roach, and Dany says hers clearly and while avoiding every pair of eyes on her.

After details of the feast had been gone over, Rhaegar orders Arthur Dayne to escort the Starks and the rest of their host to their quarters and once the hall is clear of them, Jon looks to Rhaegar and says something too quietly.

“Come on,” Aegon strides to Dany’s side and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Want to go by the docks and play that ship game?”

“He's not fighting with Rhaegar, is he?” Dany asks about Jon as they leave through the back corridor but Aegon shakes his head.

“He's going to do whatever he thinks is right, and what Jon thinks is right is always wrong…”

“No, not always.” Dany says quietly. “I just want him to give up the foolish dream of us marrying. We can be together. He knows I'll always write and visit and I'll do those things for the rest of my life. It won't be like it is now, but at least we will still have eachother.”

“Dany, stop.” Aegon pulls her aside. His rich brown eyes are like daggers on her. “You cannot write to him while in Winterfell and you cannot visit him. That's a crime and you will already be in a castle where nobody likes you. Imagine if you are caught committing adultery with your nephew! The Starks have been slighted by our family. More than slighted… they've been abused by us.”

“That is not our fault.”

“It is our history’s fault.” Aegon lashes with intensity. “We know our history and we know who has been wronged and who has yet to pay. This is us paying, Dany. It is our turn to right the sins of our ancestors.” Aegon huffs and his stare softens. “I will serve the wall and you will serve the Starks. Our debt to the northerners will be paid. They’ll even have Jon on the throne who is half Stark himself. Single handedly we will restore the realm’s peace. If Jon is arguing against that he is a fool. A selfish fool.”

Dany swallows, nods, and pivots from Aegon to bolt to her rooms, but her elbow is grabbed.

Heat spills from her eyes, all she wants is to be left alone. “Do you understand?” Aegon pleads to her. “Please, Dany… I know you and Jon love each other but we have to grow up now. I beg of you, don't act out at the feast. Show your loyalty to the Starks.”

The idea sickens her. “The Starks, you might as well call them my captors.” She spits. Aegon releases her arm and she bolts down the corridor to Jon’s rooms.

She has held her grief for this long, and now she is no longer able. Hot tears flash down her cheeks and she wipes them with small cries of frustration.

“Dany,” Jon enters and his arms instantly encasing her in their sturdy grip. Her eyes close as her face nudges into his chest and she can smell the fresh earthy scent of him.

“I don't think I am strong enough to do this like I thought…” she whispers so she doesn't outright sob like a mess.

Hands caress down the waves of her hair and it makes Dany hold onto him all the tighter. “All we need to worry about is us. As long as we are breathing we will make it work.”

“Yes,” Dany sniffles. “I am still here with you for another fortnight and I won't spoil that time crying.” She parts away slightly to wipe her cheeks. “Aegon just… he got really serious with me and I wasn't used to that… he is never serious.”

Jon tilted his head and even though he looked worried Dany smiled at how sweet he looked. “What did he talk to you about.”

“Duty. Out of everyone reminding me of my duty, he was the last I expected to give me such a lecture.”

Jon breaths out an easy bout of laughter. “Well, that will be his life. I bet he's practicing.”

Dany can't help herself either and releases a giggle that she covers with her tiny hand. “Stop, I think that was a mean joke.”

“But it made you laugh, princess.” There is a sadness in Jon’s voice right before he cups Dany’s damp cheek and kisses her soft and slow and sweet on her lips.

She wants to be greedy and keep him there, but she lets him part away. “I need you and you need me, it's always been that way and it will never change.” Dany’s voice waivers and the sweetness from his kiss fades on her lips too quickly.

“We can still be good, good friends.” Jon mentions sadly. “You’ll always be my favorite girl.”

“And you my favorite boy.” Dany vowed she would not cry again but a tear slips. “Dance with me at the feast?”

“Now Dany,” Jon swoops away a stray hair and kisses Dany’s forehead. “When I have I ever had the misfortune of missing a dance with you at a feast?”

Dany doesn't contain her smile and hugs herself into Jon’s body once more. “I want a fast and a slow song.”

“We’ll dance to all your favorites.”

That's all Dany allows herself to think about, her future dances with her beloved and all of her favorite songs.

“Go to your chambers and splash cold water on your face, please?” Jon takes her shoulders and makes her look up at him. “Your cheeks are pink, or is that from the sun?”

Despite herself, Dany delivers a cheeky grin. “Perhaps the prince is still able to make me blush.”

Jon bites down a beautiful blooming smile and nods toward his door. “Go on and get prepared for the feast. I'll be seeing you.”

“I'll be seeing you.” Dany repeats the endearment and kisses the tip of Jon’s nose in farewell. The perfect day, despite all discouragement, could still be the perfect day and even run into the perfect night. After all, Dany could still hear the birds chirping and feel the sun shining. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark kids experience their first day at King's Landing

[](http://imgur.com/57YxNI9)

Robb owed everything to the knight walking ahead, yet the eldest Stark stayed behind with his little sister and gawked at the intimidating columns they passed through the corridors of the Red Keep.

Arthur Dayne is the knight who had enough grace to pardon his father for trying to save Aunt Lyanna in the tower of Joy. If it weren't for him, Robb would never know his father.

Arya owed even more to Ser Arthur, for she wouldn't even be alive, but she didn't know the tale. Robb could hear little things here and there between his father and the famed captain of the king's guard, but soon Robb was shown to his guest quarters and his walk through the castle was cut short.

The room was large and open. Robb thought that strange, he was vulnerable to the weather outside with such a wide balcony, but instead of the cold it would be the sweltering heat after him. He pulls at his collar for air, the king’s road was not kind to him. He needs a bath.

The door behind him slams open and Arya walks in, she does not look happy with the rooms she got. “Can I just sleep with you? I don't need three rooms all to myself.”

“Yeah.” Robb says but his attention is on the view outside. “That was cruel of king Rhaegar to do, wasn't it?”

Arya nods and walks in front of Robb, he follows her out through the billowy curtains and onto the balcony. “That was the room Uncle Brandon died.”

“And our grandfather. It was some power play of Rhaegar’s, I'm sure of it. You would think the dragon skulls would be enough.”

“Did you see them,” Arya wiggles her brows and Robb laughs at her antics. The whole ride all they spoke about was how they wanted to see the dragon skulls.

“I want to go inside of one and pretend I live in the eye of a dragon.” Arya begins excitedly and then stops in her tracks. “Oh! Did you see your wife?”

Robb stiffened. “She's not yet my wife. Yes, I saw her.”

“Do you think she is ugly or pretty, Sansa will want to know when I write back home.”

“Well, she isn't ugly. So don't write that.”

Arya started wiggling her brows again and Robb nudged her away. “I'll throw you off this balcony.”

“So what do I write then! Mother will want to know too.”

“Write that she's a princess and by law princesses are never ugly. I honestly don't know what to think of her, I’ll tell you after I’ve spoken with her at the feast.”

“And dance with her, remember that is the last thing mother told you before we left.”

“Seven hells, yes Arya, I’ll bloody dance with her.” Robb could dance and he knows all the popular steps yet his mother thinks he has lead feet and a forgetful mind.

“I was told to remind you, so I'm reminding you.” Arya chirps.

“All the girls in Winterfell like me, I don't need wooing help from my sisters or my mother.”

Arya bends over cackling. “You've never wooed a girl in your life! You say you're gonna be lord of Winterfell and they fawn over you. It's nothing about you, it's your dumb title and the princess’s dumb title ranks a bit higher than yours, so you better remember to dance with her.”

He's had enough and takes Arya in his arms while she is foolishly laughing at her own jokes.

“Stop!” She howls playfully.

“I told you I was going to throw you over this balcony!”

Soon there is a real howl and Robb feels a yank on his jerkin. “Ah,” he looks down to see little Nymeria pup. “Your wolf has saved you, for now.” Robb plants Arya on the ground and she showers Nymeria with gloating praise.

Grey Wind is at the archway with Jory Cassel who holds the gift for the crowned prince. “Here is the little white pup.”

“Thanks Jory,” Arya says and takes the unnamed wolf in her arms and puts it on the bed.

“Thanks for bringing in our stuff and the wolves. Is father in his rooms?”

“He's off to a bath house, I think we should all do the same.”

Arya cringes. “A bathhouse?”

“That is city living, little sister.” To be frank, Robb didn't like the idea either. “But Jory, can we have tubs filled for us?” He asks.

Jory laughs, “I don't think it'd be a problem, they know we’re not from here. I'd ask any of the servants walking around in the halls.”

Robb nods and Jory goes on his way. “We are definitely getting tubs, right?” Arya scrunches her face and Robb knows that she is picturing the same thing in her mind that he is.

“Yeah, I don't want to be in the same water with people as old as Nan.”

“But father is…”

Robb shrugs. “Just proof that he is braver than us. Get in your room, I'll send a tub for you. Don't play around in the water either, we need to get ready for dinner.”

“Come on Nymeria!” The wolf pup scampers along with it's master and Robb can't help but laugh at the sight.

“If we look that ridiculous, bite me.” Robb mutters to Grey Wind who huffs something as a reply.

Requesting tubs earned Robb some off looks but in time he got one for himself and Arya to be filled. There were containers filled with different smelling oils that were brought in as well. The water felt nice, but Robb didn't like half the smells in the containers. After deliberation he decided on the one that smelled like herbs.

Drying off, next he needs to dress. A boiled leather tunic was really all he had on hand so that is what he wore with cotton breeches and boots. He looks no different than he did in Winterfell…. but he certainly smells different.

Arya is already in the corridor, no one did her hair and she is in the same dirty dress, and Robb throws his head back laughing at her. She smells of a the same herbs he does.

“Shut up!” She yells. “I don't know how to do hair.”

“Oh, sweet sister, that is not the only thing you haven't done. Where are your nice dresses? The ones you don't go riding in?”

“I ride in all of my dresses.” She claims with a pout. “... but which should I wear?”

“Is there a septa for this?”

“She was left with Sansa thank the gods.”

Robb sighs and heads for Arya's room and digs through her trunk of clothes. “Here.” He hands her a powdered blue cotton dress he picked randomly. At least it is clean.

“I will not do your hair.” Robb knows even if he tried to mimic a style of Sansa’s that he will end up turning Arya’s head into a rat’s nest.

“That is fine with me, dear brother. Do you think it's fun getting your hair yanked and knotted into a tight braid that pulls the skin of your face back? It hurts…”

“Girls’ hair looks better down anyways, you'll be the most sensible one there.”

“You've got a wife to be nice to now, what if her hair is up?”

Robb gives a tight lipped smile to his sister. “She will always come after you and Sansa.”

Arya guffaws and throws her dress over her shoulder and heads for the basin room. “I'll be getting changed, is father meeting us at the feast?”

“Yeah,” Robb yells so she can hear through the door. “Jory told me when I was washing. We will go with our fellow Stark men, father is taking audience with the king.”

“Should we take Jon’s wolf to the feast to give it to him?” Arya’s voice muffles through the door.

Robb involuntary scowls at the mention of their stranger of a cousin. “Jon looked at us like we were shit beneath his boot. I'm not sure he's earned a direwolf.”

“It's in his blood,” Arya calls out, repeating the words of their father.

“We’ll leave the wolves in one room. Bringing them wouldn't be proper. I'm not sure they are even supposed to be in the castle in the first place.”

“They go where we go.” Arya finally opens the door and she looks presentable, Robb thinks.

“Except for tonight.” Robb takes hold of Nymeria in his arms. “I think it may be important that we make a good impression.”

Arya makes a disgruntled face. “I'm not good at those.”

“Yeah, me neither, let's put the pups away so we can be on time.”

Robb had linked an arm with Arya as they entered with a sea of brown earthy colors that represented the Stark men. He felt like a fish out of water right when he arrived, but now the feeling was amplified. Everyone else in the dining hall wore colorful things made of silks and sheer fabrics. Everyone looked like a decorative tapestry…

“Seven hells…” Arya mutters and Robb silently agrees. They were underdressed and after thinking on it for a minute, he didn't care. This is who they were. Honest and true Northmen.

So with a chin held high and straight shoulders Robb walked in comfortably with his little sister. Their table was easy to find, it was the empty one and the Northerners filled in in a second.

Robb carefully eyes the dias in the front of the room. His future bride was up there with her golden silver hair. Arya’s foot kicked his leg and he knew she was laughing at him.

“She is pretty, even with her hair up.” He finally says, then grabs a pitcher to fill his cup with wine. “When the music starts I'll ask her to dance. Perhaps the gods will send word to mother and she'll sleep easier at night.”

Arya snorts. “This dance is such a big deal to her.”

“It's the first impression thing, it's gotta be good.”

“Don't be a big screw up, then. You'll be wifeless.”

“No matter what we are getting married. But if we hate each other… well… then I give you permission to kill me.”

“Deal.” Arya says with no problem and plops a scoop of potato mash on her plate. “Your wife is mighty close with Jon, it looks like you might have competition.”

Robb snaps back to look at the front table, sure enough, Arya is right. Daenerys is leaning into Jon, her mouth practically at his ear whispering something. It would've been fine if Jon wasn't staring right at him with a smirk.

Robb doesn't look away, he simply raises an eyebrow at the cousin he's never spoken to.

“Your jaw is clenching.” He can hear Arya say. “If you're angry you shouldn't drink.”

Daenerys playfully nudges Jon and that breaks the heated stare. Robb looks to Arya. She's right, he can already feel his blood begin to boil. “What the fuck did I just witness?”

Arya shrugs like she hears that language all the time, but Robb knows she doesn't. He was about to apologize but she starts before he can, “were they making fun of us because we aren't in fancy silks’n things?”

“I think they were making fun of me.” There was not an ounce of humor in Robb’s voice. “Gods,” he curses and takes a drink only to discover the wine is too flowery and gags on it’s sweetness, “We are here for month, Arya…” and it is going to pass as slow as it did one the road.

Arya looks to him warily, “can I have some?” she says quietly.

Robb narrows his brows until he realizes it's the wine she eyes. “No,” Robb states firmly like father would and then relaxes. “It's gross. Like drinking straight honey, you wouldn't like it.”

Arya’s mouth opens to argue but as soon as she does it music plays loud through the hall. Her face brightens within the blink of an eye. “You have to go up there and dance with a girl that laughs at you!” She grabs his shoulders to push and pull him back and forth on the bench.

Robb tries to keep his temper in check by forgetting that. Forgetting that smirk on Jon was going to be hard. “Shall I warm up with you, my lady?” Robb offers his hand and his sister takes it with a biting grip.

She canters up to the open area, expertly weaving through people and Robb laughs being strung behind her. Once they find a place he takes her other hand and commences the dance. The song is fun and fast and those are always Arya’s favorite.

There's no real technique to this dancing, Robb just needs to prance with her then spin her around when she wants to.

Over his sister he sees a flash of silver and a wave of her pale colored gown. His betrothed seems to have bound her way to the dance floor as well and it is no surprise that it is Jon with her.

The song ends and Robb bends to kiss the crown of Arya’s head. “I think I have to request that dance now.” He tells her. Before, Robb was not worried one bit of rejection, but now it looked like she was still dancing with Jon even into the next song.

“We can go another.” Arya says and Robb ignores her, even though she was being kind. Anger lead his steps toward his betrothed and her smile dies when she sees him approach. She pulls away from the crowned prince.

“Princess,” Robb nods his head and then tries to take a breath. This is the first time he's actually speaking with her, he cannot be angry.

Jon turns and a version of his shit eating grin is back on his smug face. “Stark,” he regards.

Robb stares at him a moment. How he's dressed and how he stands. He's a dragon but he looks like father and it is like Robb is in some sort of nightmare. He really does have Stark blood.

“I suppose we were bound to meet sooner or later.” Robb extends his arm and too long of a moment passes before Jon decides to shake it.

“It is a pleasure.” Jon says as if the words leave a bad taste in his mouth.

Robb takes pride in seeing that he is bigger than the crowned prince. He is just that bit taller and his shoulders broader. Robb turns back to Daenerys and she looks at him as if she hates him.

Too bad, he wants to say to her and remind her that he does not get to choose who he weds either. “May I have your next dance?” He asks and her head whips to Jon as if he'd do something but Robb starts talking before he can. “We can exchange partners.”

Robb turns and sees Arya staring at him and he motions her to come by. The bewildered look on her face makes him laugh. “My little sister loves dancing.” He says and Jon throws on the fakest smile Robb has ever seen.

Arya looks at both Targaryens and nods her head at them with her loose messy hair. Jon finally turns into a prince and performs all the proper formalities. Bowing, introducing himself, and taking her hand for a dance.

Robb does the same with Daenerys and when the dance begins she is so stiff and rigid it is impossible to have fun. Robb hopes his mother is proud of him because he is not doing this just the sheer pleasure of it.

Her eyes never leave the floor and though the song is fast paced, Robb is bored. “Forgive our late arrival,” he tries once more with conversation but she is cold and distant and it's just not working. “Do you like dancing?”

“I love it very much.” She replies sadly and quietly.

“I only ask because you're not very good at it. We can do something else if you like? A walk outside? We could just talk somewhere and try to get to know each other.” Robb would preferably like to do that last part before they are packing up to go back to Winterfell.

The princess raises her head then and Robb feels her hands slip from his, “I dance well if I'm paired with someone who is at least competent with steps.”

Robb must look angry because her eyes stare up at him wide and afraid after her little tantrum. “Whatever the issue is, I think we can both agree that this isn't fun.” He finally says. “It's hot in here, we could go out for a bit or you can go back to your table and resume your snickering at me.” It was like dealing with Sansa and Arya when they are upset and unreasonable.

Then Robb realizes the princess is in closer age with Sansa than himself. He softens the steel in his eyes and takes her hand has gently as he can. “I'm sorry.”

“I should be the one apologizing, my lord.” Her face falls with shame. “This is not the first impression I wanted to make.

A relaxed smile pulls on Robb’s lips. “If it helps to know, I am notoriously bad with first impressions myself. It would be a relief for me to know that we could start over?”

She nods and the pressure built up in Robb’s chest gives way.

Even the night air is hot to Robb’s displeasure, but it is leagues better than the crowded dining hall. They're walking through a garden full of color under the stars and it is quiet. So quiet Robb can hear the waves rolling onto the the beach over at blackwater bay.  
  
“Do you walk these gardens often?”

  
“Quite.” She nods. “I spend every moment I can outdoors. I like nature.”

Robb likes that about her, he thinks. “There will be a different kind of nature for you to discover up north, but for now you can show me this… southern, flowery, stuff.” Robb goes to touch a soft rose bloom but as soon as his fingers brush aside it four petals fall. “Oops.” Things are not so fragile up north.

“Don't trouble yourself, there are always plenty of roses.”

“But none are blue?” All Robb could see were bushes of red white and yellow.

“No, but I am aware that is a rose grown in the north.”

“Yes, it is really the only pretty flower to look at up there… well I'm not selling my home very well to you, am I? The north is a harsh beauty, but I think you will like it. At least I can only hope that you do.”

The princess nods politely and he knows he's just ruined his second chance. Arya was right, she is going to be harder to impress than the girls at home. “So, do you go out riding much?”

“On occasion.” She says neutrally. Everything out of her mouth now is just plain and neutral, perhaps the fiery tantrums would be more entertaining.

“Do you like it?” The conversation is like pulling teeth.

“On occasion.” She repeats. “Depends on the weather.”

Robb relinquishes a sigh. “Oh,” he says and tries to think of something else to talk about. Is there not one thing the princess is passionate about? The sound of the waves take his attention again.

“Dany!” A voice cuts through the air and Robb turns back in an instant to see what it was.

The other dragon prince jaunts down the paved path of the garden. “Hello Robb Stark,” he greets openly and friendly and it is a huge change of pace for Robb.

“Aegon,” he says with a smile. “I hope I haven't alarmed you, we were just on a walk.” A walk with hardly any talking.

Aegon tosses his hand through the air. “No one’s alarmed, I just wanted to see how you two were getting on.” He looks to Daenerys with great interest and she avoids his eyes for some reason.

“I think things are well.” Robb says because it would be rude if he spoke his mind.

“Dany?” Aegon says to his aunt and Robb notes the nickname.

“It is a refreshing walk.” She nods and smiles politely. “We have spoken about roses and riding.”

They all stop at one of the braziers that light the path and to Robb’s shock Daenerys is using it to warm her hands. He still thought it Agonizingly hot outside. “

“Are you cold blooded for a dragon?” Robb laughs and pulls on his jerkin. “Gods, I don't think I've stopped sweating since I got here.”

A strong hand claps down on his shoulder and Robb knows the familiar gesture from friends. “Or you’re just hot blooded, I've heard stories of you trying to throw little lord Arryn out the Vale’s moon door because he hit your sister.”

Robb laughs, “if you met this cousin of mine you'd understand.” Daenerys’ eyes flicker up and all Robb sees is disgust. He clears his throat. “I wasn't really going to throw him out. I threatened him with it as a joke, but then he just cried and kicked and screamed and– I don't know he's a baby. A baby that hits girls.”

“He's a child and you threatened to kill him, how do you want him to act?” Daenerys finally says something with emotion.

“He's a child and I was trying to play with him.” Robb retorts. “He hasn't any siblings so I suppose he doesn't understand teasing. He still sucks at his mother’s breast, it's fucking appalling. Boys that age should be out playing with sticks and swords.”

Robb could see Aegon look down and bit his lip but his shoulders still bounce with laughter despite his effort to hold it in. Daenerys looks shocked. “The boy is…”

“Eight.” Robb supplies. “Eight and sickly, probably because all his mother produces now is powder.”

Aegon chokes, his face turned berry red. “I really don't want to hear anymore of what goes on in the Vale.”

“I never want to go back, worst visit I've ever taken in my life.”

“Worse than this one?” Aegon jibes.

“Aye, worse than even this.” Robb chuckles and looks to Daenerys through the flames of the brasier, she does not stand so rigid anymore and her cheeks are a soft blush like her dress and a hint of a smile graces her lips. Robb thinks he could look at her like that forever, under the cover of night with the moonlight in her hair and flames dancing along her skin.

Now he really wishes she fancied him even in the slightest bit.

Tonight Robb learned that his betrothed is definitely beautiful, cares about children, likes to be outside, feels so-so about riding, and gets cold easily, and that is all he told Arya when they met up later and walked through the foreign corridors to their rooms.

“So you like her?”

“Well, not yet, but I can see it happening.” Robb admits when he shouldn't have.

Arya smiles and then runs ahead down the hall to open the guest chamber given to Robb. By the time he enters Arya is sprawled on the bed with all three of the wolves.

“How was your dance with the prince?”

Arya throws herself on her back and cradles her stomach, she laughs so hard. “You should've seen all the girls staring!” Mirth shines in her eyes. “Jon thought it was funny too. He told me about every girl there who had tried to get him to court them. Those girls are so desperate. It's like their whole life is centered around him.”

Robb shakes his head and smiles at his sister, happy that she was not one of those 'desperate girls'.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would it be better to keep chapters longer or shorter? I feel like this one is really long with a lot of silly stuff lol ALSO is this considered a slow burn? I do want the pace to pick up after this but still. Thanks to anyone who reads and sends kudos and comments :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something new is discovered about the Starks.

[](http://imgur.com/BTk0yTt)

Dawn breaks clear and bright, the sun’s blinding rays hit Jon perfectly through his closed eyes and he jolts awake. His forehead is slick with sweat, but he still clings to the heated body curled in front of him.

“Dany,” is the name he calls through a shaky whisper and holds her near, closing all gaps and spaces between them. Her breath is still deep and heavy with sleep until Jon shuts his eyes and burrows into her neck. She's wearing the dress from the night before, the dress that was made for Robb Stark to see her in.

“Jon,” she finds his hand at her chest and laces their fingers.

He doesn't open his eyes, he can't even get himself to move from the crook of her neck. “You can't leave me.” _She can't_. They'd lived together since birth. They’d grown from brother and sister to friends to lovers. It was the deepest relationship Jon has ever had and the next time the full moon rises she won't be here with him to see it.

Another shake escapes him and he curses it. He will even miss his oaf of a half brother. It was torture to lose him too, and all at the same time… Jon would rather have Aegon stay then have nothing and no one.

He had a horrid dream. Rhaegar, sitting in his chair screaming like he had been set afire, but there were no flames. He screeched and crackled until he was bone and ash in that chair.

Jon’s had that same dream for three nights in a row now. He wasn't sure how exactly his father would die, but he was going to die either in bed or in that damned chair. And when Rhaegar finishes deteriorating, then Jon will truly have nothing. Nothing but a crown.

“Never.” It is like a distant chime wafting through the air, her voice. Calm and soft and perfect. So perfect it almost makes Jon forget she's lying. 

He squeezes her tiny body, her back now pressing hard into his chest but he likes it and would hold onto her tighter if he wasn't so afraid of hurting her. “How many more nights do you think we can get away with this?”

“Until the very last before I leave.”

Hot tears pool at the seam of his eyes and he clamps down on them tighter. “You'll be married before then, Dany.”

_Empty_. He already feels like a hollow castle at the mere thought of her wedding and it burns more than all seven hells. “I can't endure this. I can't watch you dress in white and _give_ you away.” His stomach curdles. It should be Viserys to walk her down the aisle, but it is him Rhaegar commands to do it.

Dany’s heartbeat bounces against their joined hands as fast as a humming bird’s wings and that by itself speaks for her silence.

“I would rather go to the wall than be here without you. Perhaps I could speak to Aegon–”

“No.” Dany Protests, her voice less soft. “You won't do that. You won't give up everything. I know you can't be that selfish, Jon.”

Rhaegar started a war for Jon to be born, but how is that on him? What if his destiny is to be like any other tragic Targaryen king. It already feels like that's where he is going, down a path of misery and destruction. Going down that path alone…

Dany wiggles and Jon loosen his grip so she can turn to him. A delicate touch of her fingertips flutter over his cheek and he opens his eyes for her. Tears spill down. Tears of anger, pain.

“I wish more than anything that I could marry you, but for us that can only be a dream. A sweet dream and I will never let it go in my heart, but–” she can't finish. Tears of her own stream down the curve of her pink cheek and Jon wipes them away.

“We can't forget our duties...” He recites and he knows. Oh, he's always known but duty isn't sweet like her. It doesn't calm him when Rhaegar takes to a sudden seizing episode. All it ever does is make him bitter and miserable. “I can't even get myself to fulfill my duty to arrive on time to break my fast with our family. I want to stay here, I want that door to stay shut and locked forever.”

A small breath of laughter shakes Dany and a sad smile appears on her lips. “I should've left before the sun rose. How will I get to my rooms unnoticed now? I can't go in the same dress as last night… and my hair.”

“As messy as Arya Stark’s.” not that the little she-wolf was concerned about it last night. She was too busy taking in the sights of all the ‘frilly’ southerners. She didn't even care what dance Jon was trying to steer her in, she just went whatever way she wanted. Very hard to control, as a wild wolf would be.

Dany melts herself around Jon, arms wrapping around his neck and pressing a too soft kiss to his collarbone. A kiss that didn't dare to linger like he wanted it to.

“I must prepare for the day.”

Jon reluctantly places a goodbye kiss on the top of her head and once she feels it she squeezes him tight one last time before her warmth is gone and he is watching the flow of her gown as it sneaks out the door.

It took Jon longer to leave his bed than he wanted. Dany even had him beat to the dining court where they all normally broke fast.

What wasn't normal was that their guests had been invited as well. Jon felt stricken when he walked out on the terrace and the first thing he sees are Robb Stark’s blue eyes darting at him.

There is one chair open and it pains Jon to walk to it. It’s right across from the soon to be husband and wife and it was entirely too early to be seeing them together.

Aegon makes some tired old joke about how Jon is late but he ignores it. All he can think is how he wants to tell Robb, right to his face, that he will never marry a woman who loves him. Perhaps if he knew he’d refuse the union and somehow have the power to stop this, but deep down Jon knows that's just another fool’s dream.

The table is filled with servings of food, much more than usual, and none of it looks appetizing.

“The sweetbread is good.” Arya’s voice cuts through the soft dinging of silverware beside him. “Actually it's the only thing I've tried, but it's good.”

He takes a slice of her recommendation and forces a bite down to at least appear normal.

Not only does Jon feel his father’s eyes burn into him from the head of the table, but Aegon is also at his shoulder with a fake smile plastered on his face. “Thought we could all go out for a ride today? Show our guests what's beyond the castle walls.”

Jon peers up to see Dany’s reaction but Robb speaks instead. “I'm not opposed to that, where do you usually go?”

“We trot along the Blackwater shore mostly. The horses like to splash around in the water and we can see all the ships sail off by the docks.” Jon knows Aegon is saying this for himself, he likes the water and once he's at the wall he’ll miss it more than Jon himself.

Robb nods at that idea and his eyes jump over to Jon’s left. “Would you like to go, Arya? You’ve never seen the ocean.”

“Another time, Arya.” Comes Ned Stark's quiet, stoic voice.

Jon hears her take a breath and nod. “Another time,” she repeats lowly, “I have to… take care of something.”

Robb thinks he’s sly and pulls a napkin to his mouth but it's obvious he's snickering.

A half eaten slice of bread is thrown right past Jon and crumbles once it hits Stark’s chest.

“Arya!” Lord Eddard scolds, his face is fallen in disbelief and Robb laughs harder, his face going red and Jon can hear Aegon start too.

Arya’s brows are angled and scrunched in anger. “Shut up, Robb!” She yells over the table and displaces herself from her chair, but still her father tells her to go to her chambers even though that’s where Jon assumed she was headed for anyway.

“What was that?” Jon asks and Robb shakes his head, still smiling.

“Her– she did something stupid last night. She's paying for it now though. Quick is the whip of justice around here, isn't it?”

Gods bless Aegon's curious mind because Jon didn't have to nerve to ask another question. “What'd she do?”

Robb’s eyes flash to his father before down to his plate. “She snuck down into the kitchens…”

Aegon exploded, “what! that was her? Everyone seems to think it was some animal who raided.”

“... yeah, Arya gets restless at night. Must've been the full moon.” Robb teases but there is a nervousness to his smile now.

“Why was she so hungry?”

Robb shrugs. “Yeah, I don't know.” He says rather quickly and then his eyes sheepishly land on Daenerys beside him. Jon watches how he watches her and it hurts more than he would ever expect. It's a simple harmless thing, yet it still weighs heavily on Jon’s heart.

“Are you alright?” Jon can hear Robb’s hushed words to her.

Dany nods. “Your sister’s aim is flawless, she only hit you.”

That inspires an annoyingly genuine smile from Robb. “Good,”

It felt like Jon was watching a private moment unfold. Dany’s gaze went straight back to her plate, but Robb kept watching her with fondness set in his deep blue eyes.

The bit of sweetbread he had sits heavy in his stomach and he can't stand to be here anymore. “I'll be saddling up.” Jon swiftly dismisses himself and no one stops him. He never saddles his own horse, but today he could waste the time and use a distraction.

A soft chime carries through the stables. “Jon,” He doesn't turn back until he feels a delicate hand slip onto his shoulder. “Are you okay?” Jon has never known Dany to ask such foolish questions.

“You can answer that for yourself, can't you?” He cradles the back of her neck so she has no other option than to look at his eyes. “I’m trying, but seeing you with him makes me sick. Physically ill, Dany. Please just… when you're in front of me can you not be so close to him.”

“I had no other choice but to sit next to him, Jon. It would look wrong if I didn't and everyone was watching.”

“If you're worried about what things look like, then you shouldn't have come after me.”

“Yes,” she sighs and brushes at imaginary lint on Jon’s doublet. “I know.”

He takes her cheek and guides her in for a kiss. Another one of their many goodbye kisses and it would only be for them and the horses to know.

When he parts he smiles seeing her lick and bite the shine at her lips. “I might as well saddle my horse too.” She says suddenly and spins away to retrieve Seasmoke.

Jon curiously tilts his head noting Dany’s gown. “Shouldn't you wear your trousers?”

“I'll just do it sidesaddle.” She calls out.

“You hate riding sidesaddle.” Jon informs with useless common knowledge.

She comes up beside Jon and his horse with her own dappled grey mount. “Well, I told the table I was going to saddle my horse too, so that's what I'm doing. The price I pay for seeing you, my sweet.”

“I wish you weren’t so endearing and perfect. Then this all wouldn't hurt so much.”

“Oh, I can be nasty Jon.” Her hand smooths up Seasmoke’s snout and then she uses him like a post to lean on and looks at Jon with her fist poised on her hip. “How mean must I be to make my departure tolerable?” Her eyes are teasing.

Jon laughs, she could stab him through the hand with a knife and he'd kiss her the next second. There was nothing she could do that would make him love her any less. “Just don't depart.” He sounds more pathetic than he'd like.

Pity etches in Dany’s face just as a too cheery voice booms from down the stable yard. It's Aegon and Jon knows he has company with him.

“Robb choose any horse that's not this one.” Aegon releases his pride and joy, Balerion, from his stable. He is a sturdy black charger, a picture perfect warhorse and he is taking him to the wall when he goes.

Jon watches carefully as Robb heads for a dark brown Destrier. “What's this one’s name?” He asks no one in particular.

“That is as basic a horse as you get, Robb. Her name is Gretel.” When Aegon says the name Robb makes a face and the horse nudges his shoulder with it’s nose.

“That's the best name you could give this free spirited beast?” He exclaims and then unlocks the stable to saddle her.

“What would be better, lord Stark?”

“I don't know, something that's a good strong name. Grey Wind is a good name.”

Jon lets out a short cruel laugh. “Are you blind? The horse is brown.”

“I'm just saying Grey Wind is a good name… now for the horse…” Robb pauses for a moment and chuckles to himself. “Brown Wind wouldn't have the same effect, would it?”

  
Aegon barks out a laugh as he buckles the reins on his horse. “If you start calling her that I think she'd throw you right off.”

“I’d deserve it.” Robb mentions and throws one of the spare saddles over the horse.

Jon looks warily to Dany, endlessly feeling awful for her having to marry such a tasteless idiot. “I’ve got you, girl.” He hurries to her side and helps her up. He’s seen Daenerys effortlessly hop on a horse's back no problem at least a hundred times, but in a dress she is not so free to do so.

Jon smiles taking her waist and she futilely tries to avoid his gaze but she can't and he can see her eyes shine playfully at their small public display. “One, two, three,” he lifts her over head until she is sitting pretty on her horse.

“Thank you,” she says and deliberately nudges him with her foot but he is fast enough to catch her ankle and she squeals and grabs hold of Seasmoke’s mane for balance. “Don't, Jon!”

He gives her mercy just this once and unhands her, though it was an excellent opportunity to tickle her.

In a step, Jon hooks his foot on the saddle’s stirrup and swings up on his horse. Dany looks unnatural with both legs on one side but not any less beautiful.

Aegon strides ahead and suddenly Robb is at Jon’s other side. He is in a similar leather tunic as the day before and just as he did then, he is going to melt. To add to the misery, it is even more humid by the sea.

“You're looking at me like I'm going to die.” He says light heartedly and Jon nods and keeps his voice gravely serious.

“Because you are.”

Robb’s smile drops and his face twists into confusion. “What?”

“The heat.” Is all Jon explains and urges forward to catch up with Aegon and Dany.

The beach is white and it's sand sparkles as it reflects the sun. Jon carefully watches Dany as she ventures Seasmoke into Blackwater’s shallow waves. Robb joins her if only to get a hint of the ocean’s mist. “I don't think I can take it anymore,” he grieves.

Aegon canters back and Balerion dances in the water, his hooves splashing about in the tide. Aegon looks as fresh as he did when they started, but the sun rises higher in the sky and even Jon can start to feel sweat forming on his brow.

But Robb’s been soaked from the start. Everyone watches as he slides from his saddle and into the knee deep water. “Do you want a break?” Aegon chuckles, “all you had to do was ask.”

Jon grips his reins when he sees Robb pull and drag his leather tunic off overhead but has the decency to leave on the cotton undershirt that was underneath. “I can't breath.” He throws his tunic to shore then splashes water down his back and chest. “Those are the lightest clothes I own.” He says as if it excuses his behavior.

“Gods,” Aegon shields his eyes, “you're blinding me, Stark! You're pale as the moon.” Robb’s late to realizing the laces to his shirt are undone and races to tie them back up.

An unladylike snort escapes and Jon snaps to Dany, her hand is covering her mouth but it did not cover the sound.

“You're a suave bronzed Martell, Aegon, I'll be laughing when you're dying at the wall with frost burning your skin instead of the sun.”

“In the meantime I’ll take advantage of having a good laugh at you making a fool of yourself. Now get back on your horse, we haven't even made it to the craggy rocks yet.”

A sound pricks Jon’s ears. At first he ignores it and takes it as one of the sea birds chirping, but it gets louder. Robb looks down the beach, he hears it too. “What is that?”

“Nymeria!” The distant voice cries and soon a dog is scamping toward them, it’s paws denting in the wet sand and Jon can feel his horse frighten as it nears.

“Oh no…” Robb murmurs under his breath and tries to catch the leggy little pup. “Nymeria,” he says but the dog refuses to listen.

Seasmoke circles nervously and lets out a whinny. Dany tightens her reins to gain back control but it only upsets the horse further. It's head bobs and shakes until the giant beast is on its hind legs and Dany lacks the grip of her legs to hold on.

All at once Jon’s heart falls to the pit of his stomach and his muscles are frozen with fear and dread but he somehow wills himself to clumsily jump off his horse and try to get to her before her head hits the ground.

But Robb was already there to break her fall, thank the gods for Jon knew he'd be too late. “Nymeria!” Robb scowls at the still prancing dog and then turns to Daenerys. “You’re fine?” he breaths, holding her up.

“Nymeria!” The voice is louder now and Jon sees little Arya Stark sprint into view. She is in an unfitted mismatched set of clothes that are half soaked and she is huffing furiously. “Nymeria!” She cries once more and clamors for her dog.

Her dog that is entirely too close to an already spooked horse. “Wait!” Jon reaches out but Seasmoke is already kicking and bucking wildly.

Robb picks up Dany and runs away to a safe distance, but Arya is still by the horse’s legs and she screams when it’s hooves land with a hard thud too close to her and bolts down the beach, sending the Stark girl violently to the ground in a crash of wet sand.

Jon hurries to kneel at her side. With shaky hands, he peels up her wet tunic just enough to see what the impact of the horse did to her. Already a mirade of reds blues and purples are blotching up her milky skin and span from her ribs to her hips.

Jon prods the ridges of her ribcage and sighs in relief when everything is curved and smooth and in place.

“Is she okay?” The voice makes Jon jump out of his skin and he pulls the hem of her tunic back down. “Arya?” Robb is nearly unrecognizable with worry terrorizing his features.

“Her ribs aren't broken.” Jon says because it's all he knows and his mind is a blur, unable to think properly. The scampering pup whines and licks at Arya’s relaxed face.

“Arya, open your eyes.” Robb kneels down and props her up but her head horrifyingly rolls limp around her shoulders.

“Gods, help. Somebody get some fucking help!” Robb panics and Aegon is already riding toward the Red Keep in a blur.

“Lay her back down.” Jon commands quickly. “Go, lay her back how you found her!” They never should've touched her.

Robb does so without asking questions, gently laying his sister back into the bed of sand.

“You… don't want to mess up her back…” Jon sends a prayer up to whatever gods still listen, if Arya has to live crippled like his father while she is still so young… Memories of her dancing and skipping from last night come to Jon’s mind and his chest constricts.

“I can't do anything, I can't do anything to help her.” Jon doesn't know what to say to his cousin, but he gets up and pulls Robb with him.

“We shouldn't crowd her.”

“What the fuck kind of brother am I? I was right there, I could've gotten her but I didn't know! I– I didn't see her.”

Jon recalls it happening all within a blink and shakes the pulsing ache from his head. “She’ll be fine, she probably just got hit too hard in the head.” That's happened to him before. In the training yard when his guard was down, Aegon smacked him in the back of the head with a wooden sword. Jon was blacked out until eveningfall.

_We shouldn't crowd her_. It felt like it was the right thing to do but when a little gasp cuts to Jon’s ears he and Robb are driven by instinct and are right beside her again.

“Arya, Arya look at me,” Robb wipes away strands of hair and holds her face between his hands until her eyes creak open.

“Can you wiggle your toes.” Jon asks with anticipation.

Her small body constricts and she winces and groans.

Robb shakes her slightly, the panic was growing in his eyes. “Did you do it? Can you feel your legs?”

“Bloody yes, Robb!” She growls. “Trust me, I can feel everything and it all hurts.”

Now that he knows there's nothing broken inside, Jon, as gently as he possibly can, slides his arms under her back and knees to lift her up. “What are you doing?”

“Taking her to the water.” Jon tells Robb, who is insistently at his side with every step he takes.

Arya fists the material of Jon’s doublet and he can feel her body lock up. “I don't want to go in the water.”

“Put her down!” Robb orders but Jon ignores them both.

“You'll want to go in the water, the salt will help with any swelling and pains you're feeling.”

Still, her head shakes. “I don't know how to swim.”

“She doesn't want to go, give her to me.” There's something in Robb’s voice that wasn't there before, a quiet warning of some sort that sounded like it could've been a threat. All that was missing was an ‘or else’ at the end of his statement.

Jon can feel the water at his feet. “I'm helping her,” he says defiantly and trudges further until the sea splashes just below his knees. it wasn't like Robb could punch him with his sister in his arms. “I'm going to put you down now, but I won't let you go. Okay?”

There is hardly anything left of her pupil, the girl is so scared, her eyes are all grey steel. “Okay.” She finally shakes out and her verbal consent sets Robb a little less on edge.

Jon takes care to move slow and gently. He keeps his promise and never once lets her go as he eases her in the water and sits down behind her to make her keep an upright position. “This is fine, isn't it?”

“Yes,” she says but her grip is like iron on his leg under the water telling him otherwise. “The waves,” she whispers under her breath as if the tide is coming in high and they were going to drown.

“It's just at your chin, this is actually when the tide is low and the water is calm. There's nothing to worry about. No current is going to whisk us away.”

“Right.” She bites out but her grip digs in harder and it even hurts a little. There was no convincing this stubborn wolf that they were safe. “You salt a pig before you eat it, how is it going to help my pain.” She mutters.

“It's not milk if the poppy, it won't take away your pain, but it soothes achy muscles and takes down swelling. I've taken many salt baths. They work.”

It's like he can feel her eyes roll. He didn't have to help her, he wanted to say. It's not like he wanted to get his clothes wet and sandy and anchor himself down so they didn't rock with the waves so much, he did it all for her comfort.

Jon looks down the shore, Robb is already heading back to meet with Aegon who had finally arrived with the maester. He knew it was going to be fine before, but now Jon finally allows himself to release his breath and the weight on his shoulders lift. The maester is old but he travels in the water nonetheless.

Jon reaches down to where her hand is pinned to his knee. Once she feels his fingers slide over her knuckles she releases and mumbles an apology just as the old maester arrives. Jon does his best to explain what had happened and what he was able to observe. No broken ribs but heavy bruising covering her body.

He emerges from the sea wringing out the hem of his doublet and meets Aegon, Dany, and Robb on the beach. Robb is still staring out to where Arya and the maester are, fretting silently to himself.

“She's fine.” Jon assures but knows he won't put this wolf to rest with words either.

Aegon nods his agreement. “Yeah, Jon and I used to abuse the shit out of each other and have had to take many of these kinds of salt treatments. The maester will take good and proper care of her.”

Robb bends down and takes the whining pup that was at his feet into his arms. “I should have seen her.” He frowns, “I let my sister get charged down by a horse and she could've died and I have to tell this all to my father… I'm an idiot.”

Jon felt genuinely sorry. What was meant to be a nice ride turned into massive heart attack for all involved. “All you need to think about is that we’re all fine.” As Jon speaks he never takes his eyes off the ground. It felt odd consoling a near stranger. A near stranger he swore he hated.

Jon’s gaze finds Dany and she looks pale and sick as the wind takes her hair and she holds her elbows making her look smaller than she already is.

“I should get my father...” Robb swallows thickly. “The longer I keep it from him the worse it will be.”

“Robb,” Aegon says before the Stark and the pup could leave. “I didn't know your family had a dog.”

“She's not a dog,” he says defensively and looks into the eyes of the creature he holds. “She's a direwolf and she doesn't belong this far south… neither do I or Arya.” He sighs and looks out to the sea once more. “I can't leave her.” He decides and they all watch him as he joins Arya and the grand maester.

“I've read about direwolves.” Aegon informs. “I’ve been studying up on creatures that live beyond the wall and direwolves are one of them. How did the Starks acquire one? Let alone decide to keep it as a pet?”

The question hangs heavy in the air.

Even from this far a distance, Jon can see Arya reach up and beckon for her strange little wolf. Robb kneels and allows the beast to nuzzle it’s owner.

Stark blood runs thick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gretel is actually the name we gave a wild mama moose that hangs around my sister's boyfriend's house. Balerion and Seasmoke are names of old dragons from GRRM's own asoiaf history. I tried not to describe Jon's horse because I didn't want him having a connection to an animal that wasn't Ghost lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something new is discovered about the Targaryens.

[](http://imgur.com/psbmy5p)

“It wasn't all bad, that boney maester taught me how to float. Isn't that strange? To know that we could float on water if we just choose to lay still. It was  kind of fun.”

Robb offers a smile, but it is absent from his eyes. He and Arya have been in her room all day. She is on bed rest and he can't get himself to leave her even for a moment.

“ _Ouch_!”

Well… she is supposed to be on bedrest but with her that was never going to happen.

Robb grabs her wrist so he can prevent her causing further damage to herself. “Stop or you’ll never heal, silly girl.”

Arya pulls from his grip and continues to twirl and slash the air with a stick. “Nymeria can pick you one up from outside and we can spar.” She says adventurously, but Robb must crush her spirits for her own good.

“Don't you want to sit, at least? We can play cyvasse?”

Arya’s cringes and sticks her tongue out. "That's not a fun game, play forfeits with me. Everyone at home always plays forfeits.”

Robb coughs, “We’re not going a single round in forfeits, do you even know how to play?”

“You can teach me, we have all day.”

Robb shakes his head. “For one, we don't have enough people for an interesting game and two just no. I don't want to play that with you.”

“Because you and Theon turn it into a dirty game, I hear mother complain about it, Robb.” Arya says as if she's won some verbal battle they were having. Arya just loves to fight, either with sticks or words, she loves being stubborn and defiant.

“All we do is make it fun, and you shouldn't be sneaking in on people’s conversations. I know mother wouldn't talk about that if you were around.”

Arya shrugs annoyingly and continues to bat that dumb stick around. “It's not just from mother I hear it, Jeyne Poole doesn't shut up about it, how is it she can play but I can't? She's not that much older than me.”

Robb laughs at the mention of Jeyne. Since their name days fall on the same day their forfeit was they had to be tied together for an hour. She was beet red the whole time. “We just don't have enough people to play. The game isn't fun without ale either. You have to be in a… certain mindset. Cyvasse, however, is always a good game.”

“Cyvasse is boring strategy and I hate it. Why do I know how to play the games I hate?”

“Maybe your tastes in games will improve as you get older. Cyvasse requires skill, forfeits is just doing mindless tasks. You honestly don't even need to learn to play. The judge just tells you what to do and you do it or lose a possession.” That's why drunk people play it, it's not too complex for simple minds. Cyvasse is intriguing but not a lot of people in Winterfell play. Robb is pretty sure he and Sansa are the only ones that like it. Bran and Rickon are too young to understand all the rules still.

Arya sucks at it and that's the only reason why she hates it, she just won't admit it.

“If you sneak a cyvasse board in here I’ll throw it out a window before I play it.”

Robb sighs and rolls his eyes. Arya is not so fun when she's caged up like this. “Lay down so you can get better.” He tries his best to be firm like their father would be. “I mean it, Arya.” He says thinking he's done it but like every other time, his commands go through her ears as suggestions.

“Get a stick and we can spar.”

“No,” he's not giving her what she wants, she's been too annoying and he won't reward it. “I'm taking the wolves and leaving you.”

Arya reaches a small hand out to him as he turns to pick up the little unnamed white wolf. “Robb, don't! Please, I'm sorry, I'll play cyvasse with you...” she nearly gags saying the words.

“Don't worry, it's not about the game, it's about you not following the maester's orders.”

With the most exaggerated scowl, Arya drops her stick and lays face down on her bed. “Thanks, that's better.” Robb says cheerfully and she mumbles something dramatic like ‘ _I'm suffocating myself to death_ ’.

Robb places the runt wolf on her back and that was enough to get her head to lift up. “When can we give Jon his gift?”

“After you've successfully completed a day of bed rest. Today can count if you start right now.”

Arya’s head flops back to the mattress as she groans. “I feel fine.” She bitterly muffles.

“The grand maester recommended bed rest and he's smarter than you so I think he knows better.”

Arya rolls over to her back and the little pup climbs up to lay on her chest. “Did you make sure your betrothed is okay?”

“She's fine. It's you I'm worried about. You got ran down, Arya. It was a serious thing that happened to you.”

“I don't like you when you get serious like you did. It makes me feel like something bad is going to happen.”

A genuine line of worry worked itself between Arya’s brows and Robb could only look at her the same way. “I think my reaction was justified. What happened was pretty bad.”

“No,” Arya says and Robb knows she's only saying that so Nymeria doesn't get in trouble anymore. “We are all fine. The maester has his head up his arse about me being on bed rest.”

Robb chuckles. “Don't say that word.”

“You're not mother, stop sounding like her.” She bites back quick as a whip.

Robb allows himself to smirk at her jeer before he remembers how grave his father looked at him when he got the news. Ice was in his stare, his voice, it even made Robb feel like there was a shard of it in his throat that he couldn't swallow down. Now Robb pictures him at some southern ornate desk writing a letter to mother about it all.

Nymeria making a wreck of one of the kitchens, Arya in dirty breeches trying to clean the wolf’s fur, and then how Robb didn't have enough tact to make sure his sister was out of the horse’s line of fire before it charged off. He did as his mother begged and danced with his betrothed but somehow, Robb didn't think that was going to make it in the letter.

Perhaps he should go to the weirwoodless godswood and pray or something. Robb was never well versed in his beliefs but maybe if he was this wouldn't have happened. “I never want to experience something like this ever again.” He says dumbly to the girl who had almost lost her life. “I mean, I don't ever want to see you all dead and limp like you were… that was you, Arya, you were in my arms and you weren't fighting against me or laughing or telling me to shut up. You were just--” _dead_. It was only for a moment, but it was the longest moment of Robb’s life before she came to.

“I was never dead.” She says so evenly and so brave. “My heart never stopped and neither did my breathing.”

Robb laughed to keep things from getting _too_ serious for Arya. “I was too busy panicking to be observant. I was stupid and I never said, but–”

“–Robb, shut up,” they both share a poignant look. Arya’s eyes were steel on him and he could only nod in silence. She knew what he was going to say and she didn't want to hear it. That was the girl Arya always was and will continue to be. Hard as iron, there was no time for apologies with her.

The room got quiet and both Stark children reverted their attentions to their wolves. Scratching between their ears and receiving little puppy kisses on their fingers until the white one began viciously chewing up the blankets on the bed.

Robb and Arya only watch as the tiny beast rips a hole. “He needs his own Stark.” Arya says and it doesn't surprise Robb in the slightest. She's been wanting to give the damn wolf away since they arrived.

“He needs a name and and some food. He's smaller than the others, he’ll need to eat up if he wants to catch up with his brothers and sisters.”

“Do you think Jon would take proper care of it? Or will he have someone else do it all?”

Robb shrugs. “I don't know exactly what type of person Jon is. He's strange.”

Arya cocks her head funnily to the side. “How?”

Robb shrugs again. He didn't want to say anything about their cousin on account he didn't know exactly how far his pouty looks went. Did he only look solemn or was he truly a disturbed person? “He just is.”

“He looks like us.”

“He looks like _you_ ,” Robb corrects. “That's the only familiar thing about him. He wasn't raised like us, he doesn't dress like us. He's a dragon, and I don't want to assume that he'd like us just because we’re family. I don't know these people…” that was most like why they were here for more than a while. To try and bond with these dragons.

“He knows a lot about bodies.”

“Bodies?”

“You know!” Arya gestures her hands Wildly in the air and Robb was still drawing a blank. “He's smart, he knew how to help me.”

“I hope he's smart, he's going to be king.”

A pound came from the door and when Robb answered it he was surprised to see Aegon and Jon accompanied by a shiny king's guard in white armor.

“Your graces.” He regards respectfully and notices that they're in slightly less flashy garb than usual.

As expected, Aegon did all the talking while Jon stood back wearing a pensive look. “We want to apologize for that ugly incident yesterday. How is Arya doing?”

“Don't apologize, it's none of your fault. She's a little restless and acts like she's fine but I know she's sore. Bed rest is what's best for her but–”

“But she won't hear it.”

“No,” Robb sighs. “Do you want to see her?” Robb was just about to open the door and reveal the room but Aegon halts him with an upheld hand.

“No, don't disturb her. We just wanted to see if you would like to train with us out in the pit.”

“Pit?”

“Ah, it's like a little arena. It's just a simple sandy pit in the ground.” Aegon spoke so well and easy Robb wondered why he wasn't going to be king. Who would choose to take the black when they could have it all?

“Well–” something prods his side and Arya's head pokes around the door. “Can I come, I'll just watch I promise.” She pleads.

“No, father will have my head.”

“I'll only be watching, it's like bed rest but outside.”

Robb thought to finally throw her a bone. All day she's been wishing to be anywhere but in her chambers. “If you sit, you can come.”

Arya was the worst spectator Robb could ever hope for. He didn't say anything because she truly thought she was helping. Yelling things down to him in this dusty pit that was the deepest of all the seven hells. She thought she was seeing things he wasn't and tried to be his eyes, but all her yelling was distracting. Arya’s voice is very sharp and distinctive and every word went straight to his ears over everything else.

He'd been bested by both Jon and Aegon and now he was bone tired and preparing for his third beating. This was not something he was used to: _losing_.

“You've given up?” Arya's voice sounds as if she is the one in toil. She can see how his shoulders sag and hear how ragged his breath is. He is the picture of defeat.

Robb grunts and straightens up. “No,” he denies and tries not to choke on the dust wafting in the air and wipes the sweat pooling on his forehead. He needs new clothes… clothes that aren't leather and that can breath. He's proud of the north but he can't survive this heat.

Robb wonders if he's going to die, he can't quit while his sister's watching. He’ll lose every round, but he can't quit.

“We can stop for water.” Aegon says breezily and Robb could kiss the prince.

He's never been so parched, never so sweaty, never so fucking burnt. The skin of his cheeks stung and Arya kept poking him because the pressure turned his red skin white. “That hurts.” He growls and takes hulking gulps of water.

Arya herself was burnt, but she remained cute and pink and unbothered by it. “Did you watch when Jon and Aegon went? Aegon favors his right side so you should go for his left. Jon is smaller than you so you can just hit harder than he does and he’ll fall.”

“Yeah Arya, I'll do all of that when I'm not blinded by the sun or deafened by you.” Robb finally snaps and then cools off by patting a handful of water on the back of his neck. “I'm out.” He says sadly, shaking the empty skin.

“I can get you more.”

Robb slices the air with an uncaring hand. “Yes, sure, go on, roam where ever you like.” Never will he try to cage a wolf again. She’ll just do what she wants anyway.

Arya takes the empty skin and scampers off. “I thought your sister was the one hit by a horse, not you.” Aegon’s voice is teasing as he and Jon approach. Robb envies them in their light cotton jerkins and breeches. They move light and swift when they fight. Robb is slow and sluggish and an overall embarrassment to his home… in normal conditions he is strong and able, he's good with his feet and his strikes, but here? Sparring here just makes him want to lay down and die.

It was frustrating to admit that, even to himself, but he was too hot to get angry about his increasing will to quit.

Aegon slaps his back and it is is meant to be light but to Robb it hits hard and he jerks forward a bit. “Aye,” he winces. “You fight well. Both of you do.”

The ground moves in a strange way. Robb bends over, bracing his hands on his knees and tries to take deep breaths. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Being born in Winterfell isn't all it's cracked up to be when you're fighting here, huh?”

Robb tries to laugh but it comes out like a wheeze. “I was born in R-rive _rrrrrrr~_ ”

                         -x-

  
His face crinkles, it feels like ice is digging into his cheek, only the ice is vehemently sniffing.

Robb opens his eyes to be greeted by deep yellow ones. “Grey Wind.” Very slowly, he leans up on his elbows. He's in his guest chambers, his father sitting in a chair beside his bed.

“I had to send another raven to your mother.” The lord of Winterfell eases back in his chair. “Drink,”

Robb sees the cup and pitcher on his bedside table now. He easily drains a cup. “Where's Arya?”

“Sleeping, Jory is watching over her.”

Past the billowing curtains to the balcony Robb could see the moon. He'd been out for some time. “Is it late?”

Ned nods. “The castle is asleep, and you should be too, now. They told me you'd wake up with time, but I had to make sure…”

Robb looks around, a sparse amount of candles were lit and he was in different clothes.

“A gift from our royal hosts.” Ned says when he sees Robb pull at the strange fabric. It's slippery and so soft between his fingers it felt like he was touching nothing. It was also a bright garish color. Robb’s only ever worn muted browns, greys, blues, and greens, never vibrant red. “I'd say it's more a gift from Prince Aegon than anyone else.” Ned adds.

Robb wonders if he'd fit in at Sunspear with this, then remembers he can't even fit in at King’s Landing. “I'll thank him when I see him next.”

“Drink the rest of that water and get some rest. The heat exhausted you.” Both Robb and Greywind watch as Ned stands and bids good night before he leaves.

As soon as the door shuts Robb is out of bed. He doesn't feel tired but he drinks all the water from the overly decorated pitcher and heads for the night air out on the balcony. Unexpectedly, he shivers. His skin is hot but he is cold and the feeling makes his stomach twist. “It's the sunburn…” he mutters low to greywind who listens with great interest.

“Stay,” he commands as he slips out into the darkened corridor. He knows he won't be able to sleep feeling so cold and hot all at the same time. Having the sheets touch his skin was the last thing he wanted.

Robb wandered the castle grounds alone, the more he thought back on the day the more he wanted to go home. He wouldn't be going home the same though, he'd have a wife.

He'd have a wife then he'd have kids and then he'd have Winterfell and then he'd die.

He’d miss all the girls at home and how prettily they smile at him. Alys Karstark wouldn't make anymore visits and it would be inappropriate to play a rowdy game of forfeits with Theon and the girls… Soon Robb would be taking the first step to death and that was… not appealing.

Of course he could die unexpectedly, he feels as though he almost did today. If he did that would've been some pathetic way to go.

Now Robb did have the energy to feel angry. He wants to show those princes that he's not a fighter that drags his feet or is slow to counter. He can give back just as good as he gets.

He groans aloud, feeling safe no one will hear it in the hollow southern godswood. Reliving every detail of his multiple defeats was painful and Robb wanted nothing more than a rematch, with both princes. He'd bathe in ice before if that's what it'd take for him to fight like he normally does.

Hushed voices swept through the breeze and to Robb’s ears. He thought for sure he was alone, until just a few more steps up the path he saw the back of what could only be Jon.

Perhaps Robb could get that rematch sooner than later. “Jon,” Robb announces to let himself be known. His cousin spins quick and sharp and reveals who he was talking to.

Robb’s head tilts. Daenerys is there with tear slicked cheeks. Her lip quivers on an intake of breath before her panicked eyes flicker to him.

“My lady?” He asks with concern, Robb was never any good at handling crying girls, but he was going to be marrying this one. Dread made his heart skip as he looks at her red bleary eyes, it was just as Robb felt when he had to calm Sansa when she would cry.

A crying girl was always an awful thing.

“What's happened?”

“Nothing,” she moves to frantically wipe her cheeks free of tears.

Robb throws a questioningly glance to Jon but he is no help to explain either. “What are you wearing?”

Robb remembers the red silk tunic gifted to him. “My father says Aegon gave it to me, but I have a feeling he’s made a jeer at me.”

Jon stiffly nods. “It matches your face.” It was all insult, no humor.

Robb can feel the planes of his face harden as his anger set in. “What did you do to make my betrothed cry?” He asks, not falling for the change of subject.

“It's what _you_ did,” Jon spits out menacingly and Robb was just about ready for a fight when the prince  began to stride towards him but Daenerys flittered past him in a flowy gown, her hand on his chest to keep him in place.

“I am glad you're alright,” she tosses over her shoulder quickly to Robb. “I feared the worst, that you wouldn't wake.”

What did she think he was, an idiot? Her words were just as hollow as a raven’s bones. “Spare me your false worry, princess, I don't need it.” Robb could only look at the pair in disgust and scrutinize the way they regarded each other. How Jon held a protective arm over her and how Daenerys’ hand never left his chest when she meant to only halt him.

Robb kept silent. His father would want him to be silent and do his duty, but rage was a mighty thing to try to escape. Red flashes into his vision and his hands ball into death grip fists. How he wants nothing more than to dent the melancholy prince’s face in.

But Robb fought it. Fought the boiling wolf’s blood in his veins.

Losing at swords was easier.

“I _eagerly_ await our wedding, princess.” He bites with malice and feels no guilt when a tear rolls down her cheek. “I bid goodnight to you both.” The false courtesy was more of mockery as Robb turns and leaves them to whatever it was they were doing at this hour.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally made up everything about forfeits lol I only know that in A Game of Thrones Ned sees some people playing it in a brothel.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark wings dark words.

[](http://imgur.com/0UIbaSU)

The wide streets of King’s Landing ran as busy as flowing rivers. People of all different births and statuses hustled through to get where they wanted to be, to shop where they wanted to shop.

For every noble house that arrived to attend the royal wedding, there was a band of singers, merchants, and hedge knights following them into the city. Arya had never seen so many people. So many loud, nasty people. 

“Watch it, my lady.” Jory’s hand was quick like a snake and pulled Arya to the side just a moment before a silk merchant came rolling with his cart of goods. Nymeria trailed them, her nose prodding at Arya’s hand every chance she could get. The wolf was starving for attention, but there was to time to stop in the flow of the streets. Arya and Jory kept on their pace despite the poor wolf whining for pats. 

Colorful tents were erected overnight it seemed and lined every street corner. “Would you like one of those?” Jory leans down to her ear and says as he points to a merchant stall full of silken southron wrap gowns. Many of the dresses were light in color and embroidered with glittering beads and shiny threads, much like what Princess Daenerys wears.

They were pretty, Arya could see that. What she couldn't see was her in one of them. “No,” she shoulders Jory away and he chuckles, returning to his full height. Arya was happy to be in dove-grey cotton.

Eventually, there was a stall that had garnered her interest. A purple canvas tent that housed little metal workings. There were no weapons like you would find on the Street of Steel, but there were little animals shaped from steel, iron, even copper. Arya became transfixed on the intricate details of the premade dragon figurines that were on display. 

Arya whittled things from wood from time to time, she was better at that than sewing, but these little animals were shaped from metal. They shone in the sun and had a certain life about them. 

An iron direwolf. That would be perfect. 

Arya thought it for herself at first, but Robb… it would make a good wedding gift for him. 

“You've perused long enough, girl. Buy or stop hogging up space.” Came a gruff meaty voice from a gruff meaty man. 

Arya turns to look over her shoulder but Jory, the man with the coin purse, was not there. “I want an iron Direwolf. I promise you your coin when you're done.” She says to the craftsman. His arms are crossed over his chest as he looks down at her, skeptical.

“Promises do me no good, run off now, and don't try this stunt again. Others may not be as kind as I to schemin’ little lasses.” 

Arya is no schemer. When she gives a promise she means it. Her eyes roll. “I'll be back.” She threatens and leaves to find Jory in the crowded court area.

She thinks she spends an eternity searching when her eyes see him talking to a pretty lady who is leaning back on an arbor in the shade. There is a slit in the woman’s dress so high it bares her entire leg. 

Arya sighs wearily to herself.

People left and right bump into her. It wasn't fair, she hadn't decided on whether she wanted to get Jory or not but it didn't matter, the crowd was going to push her where it wanted her to go. So she went. She stopped fighting and let it take her down unknown streets until she finally found something she recognized.

Splitting away from the ever moving horde, she found the gate to one of the Red Keep’s gardens, unhooked the latch, and rushed in. Two gold cloaks stood guard. “Go back to your father, girl.” They stood over her like they weren't going to permit her entry. Arya was tired of all these men with their arms crossed looking down at her like she was stupid. 

“That's what I'm trying to do. I'm Arya Stark, my father is Ned Stark and my brother is marrying the princess in a few short days. Let me through.” 

One of the guard’s armor rattles as he laughs. “Funny, Lord Eddard’s little girl is said to be horse-faced and just as solemn as he is. Now out with you, you aren't as clever as you think.” 

She wasn't trying to be clever, she was trying to tell the truth but they were too dumb to see it. 

At the same time, their hands rush to the hilts of their blades and Arya notices Nymeria is back at her side. She smiles. 

“That's the wolf girl.” The other knight nudges his foolish friend to the side so Arya could pass. “Sorry, my lady.” He says as a courtesy but that means nothing to Arya. He should've taken her word. Bran was already a better knight than these men and he is a boy.

This garden was strange to Arya, but she followed the familiar sand brick path in hopes that it would lead her to the Red Keep’s doors. Nymeria certainly liked this place, her nose kept itself glued to the ground and she wandered off the path to inspect a new plant they had come across. The wolf was borderline frantic as she went on sniffing everything. 

Arya wonders if Jory is still speaking to that lady, or if he has realized she had left him. She wishes Robb could've gone with. He wouldn't have abandoned her so easily, but he had been gone ever since this morning. After they broke fast he and Aegon left for the dragon pit to see what was left of the Targaryen’s dragons. Arya has heard that there were three eggs kept in there. Three hopes that one day dragons will soar again, but everyone also says time has turned them to stone. Nothing but cold volcanic ash lay beneath their shells. 

Arya wanted to see them, but instead she's spent the day with Jory, which wasn't bad, but not as good as seeing dragon eggs either. 

Her thoughts and her feet freeze. Ahead there is a wheeled chair and Arya knows of only one man who could be in such a contraption. “Nymeria, no!” She yells in a hushed tone and lunges to grab the wolf’s fur, but it's too late. She's already trotting up to the back of the strange chair. 

Arya winces as she watches Nymeria stick her nose over the armrest. A gentle, pale hand runs over the top of her head and Arya decides she should go make herself known to her king… 

Her feet drag until she rounds to the front of the chair, when she is in the king’s line of sight she straightens and bows and sneakily tries to pull Nymeria away. “Your grace.” She says quietly. The king was always there to break fast with but he never spoke much. Arya usually forgot he was even there. “Sorry,” she tugs Nymeria firmly to her side so she can leave the man be. 

Rhaegar’s eyes, his milky purple eyes, fall on Arya. She's heard stories of how comley he was when he was younger. All the songs say his eyes were dark violet and he was a strong a capable warrior. Now he's flesh wrapped over bone, his cheeks gaunt, and he looks as if he were blind, but he smiles when she looks back at him. Arya could see the subtle charm that could've been there if the war hadn't left him a shadow of what he once was. 

“Are you lost, child?” 

“No,” she denies quickly. She was, but she didn't want an escort to be requested for her. She especially didn’t want those gold cloaks to be the ones to take her back. “I didn't mean to disturb you, your grace.” Arya meant to hurry and leave before more questions could arise, but the king spoke softly to her once more.

“Your wolf seems to be just as high spirited as you.” 

Arya looks to Nymeria and nods. “My father says we are both unruly.”

There is a glint that sparks in the old king’s eyes yet his face turns sorrowful. It made Arya pity the dragon king and she had no idea why. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him, he has it all, but even the poorest of all peasants could still use their legs.

“Excuse me–” Arya begins apologetically, but then she sees Jon come down the path. He stops when he’s at his father’s back, his hands on the handles of the wheeled chair. 

“Arya?” He looks a little surprised that she was there. 

For the first time in forever, Arya’s nerves had her voice caught in her throat. “Go and take her back to the castle, I’ll manage.” King Rhaegar says and Jon slowly, but surely, leaves his father’s side to follow command. 

Whether Arya wanted it or not, she supposed she'd be getting that escort anyway. “What are you doing here?” He asks as he subtly guides her to turn and walk along the path. 

“I didn't mean to disturb anything, I swear, I was trying to get back to my father.” 

“How did you get left alone in the first place?” 

Arya hated questions like that, she hates having to explain herself all of the time. No one ever believes her or trusts her or lets her do anything. “I wandered away. I was going to get something for Robb but-- I don't know, it was crowded and Jory was distracted. I can always go back and get it commissioned when my father is with me.” Now Arya realizes why this doesn't feel right. “You're not supposed to be here,” she looks up to him but he keeps his gaze fixed ahead. “You are supposed to be with Robb and Aegon.” Instead, he's wheeling his father around in the gardens. 

Finally, he looks down and raises an inquisitive brow. “Has Robb not been talking about me behind my back?” 

“He told me once that he thinks you're strange and too quiet.” That was all Robb had to say about Jon as far as a Arya knew. 

Jon shakes his head. “Never mind. I chose to stay because I wanted to. I've seen the dragon pit a million times.” 

“Lucky,” Arya scoffs. She wouldn't ask to see it a million times, just once would be fine. “Are there really dragon eggs in there?” 

Jon laughs as if she had just said something ridiculous. “No, we keep the eggs somewhere safer. There's just bones and chains that held the last dragons. The only thing that would make the dragon pit interesting is if there were actual dragons left in there.” 

Arya didn't think that true. A place called the dragon pit had to be special. “You're just saying that because you're not impressed with your home. In the Winterfell crypts we have the old kings of Winter buried down there and even though they're all dead, you still feel like they left bits of themselves in the brickwork. If you tried, you could probably feel the old dragons’ presence in the pit.” 

“The walls that have failed to collapse are charred black still to this day. That's as much of their presence as you're going to get. You northerners are a superstitious lot.” 

“And you southerners are mean and boring. Your king’s guard said I was known to have a long horse face. The only person who has called me that is my sister and she only says it when she's angry with me.” 

“The men with the gold cloaks are the city watch. White cloaks are kingsguard. And it is wise not to trust the traveling word of strangers, you do not have a horse face.” 

Arya smiles despite herself. She knew she wasn't pretty like Sansa, why would she be? She never acted like a proper lady, she wouldn't have proper lady looks. Her hair would always sneak out of plaits and her dresses always a little dusty at the hem. Sansa wouldn't have had any problems in the markets as Arya had. Sansa looked and breathed nobility, Arya breathed stable girl. 

“you can find your way back from here, right?” 

The question takes her off guard, but she sees the door to the castle just up a few steps of stairs. Suddenly, she didn't want to let go of the escort she never asked for. 

“Wait!” She grabs his arm before he could begin his way back, “I want to show you something.” 

His face pinches just as his head tilts to the side. “Show me something? This is my home, I know every inch of this place.” Arya ignores him and drags him up the steps anyway. 

She knew this wasn't good or proper. Robb would be angry, but in the moment Arya could care less. Robb wasn't here, he never had to know. Up in the guest tower, she cautiously opens the door to his chambers. “Don't move too quickly or you'll excite them,” she warns over her shoulder to Jon, he looks impatient with her command.

“Don't worry, I won't spook the rest of your little wolves.” 

Arya snaps back to him again and scowls. It would be easy to guess that since she has a wolf Robb would too, but it still threw water on her excitement that he figured it out. At least she still has the gift to surprise him with. 

With all anticipation gone, Arya casually swings the door open and Nymeria scampers in to greet her brothers. Grey Wind was on the bed awaiting Robb’s return, but the runt had himself twisted in some tapestry he'd yanked from the wall.  

It was odd that Grey Wind didn't jump down to at least sniff Arya’s hand, so she went to him. “This is Grey Wind,” 

“Robb’s, I presume?” Jon sidles into the room with arms crossed.

“Yes,” Arya says through clenched teeth. “How did you know that.” 

“Your brother said something stupid about that name once.” Jon shrugs. “You Starks let on more than you know.” 

“You're a Stark too.” Arya finally says after having enough of his attitude. All he's done is point out their differences, but couldn't he see they were the same? They even looked alike which was more than Arya could say with her own trueborn brothers and sister. “We were raised in different places but you and I have the same blood running through our veins. That's a blood bond and you can't deny it.” 

Jon gives a good hard look and Arya releases a breath when a crooked smile suddenly appears on his normally stern face. “You're right. I can't deny it.” 

Seldom does Arya get to hear those words.  _ You're right _ . Pride swells in her chest. “I have something for you, a gift.” 

Striding over to the stirring tapestry on the ground, Arya makes a show of tossing the woven fabric away to reveal Nymeria and Grey Wind’s little brother. 

Arya watches Jon carefully, he takes a step forward, but that's it. “Is this a trick?” 

“No!” Arya scoops the pup into her arms.

“That's a direwolf. You're giving me a real direwolf?” 

“And why not? You're meant to have it. All of my brothers and my sister have one, and there was one left in the litter. The gods know you're a Stark.” 

“The gods?” He laughs. “I can't keep a beast like that in the red keep. It doesn't belong here.” 

_ And neither do you _ , Arya wanted to say. She likes Jon, she likes that he can fight and how he’self-awarere of southern proclivities and she likes that he has father in his eyes. Grey steel turned smoke under glass, he has nice eyes she thinks.  

“I can't accept this, Arya.” 

“But he needs you.” The pup grunts stubbornly at Arya’s words, but it’s true. He needs someone to bond with. “He's the smallest, his mother is dead, and he needs someone to look out for him. Look he’s fiery like you, quiet like you too. He doesn’t howl, not ever.” 

Jon exhales apprehensively and closes his eyes. “Alright.” He sighs quietly, “I’ll take care of the creature.” 

Arya holds out the pup and Jon takes him gingerly between his hands. “His eyes are red.” 

“Robb says they're like rubies, which would match your armor.” 

Jon nods. “Yes… I guess.” 

“What are you going to name him?” Arya had been imagining this moment, when the little wolf finally gets the honor of having a name. In her head she always imagined Jon picking an old dragon name. Robb and the princess Daenerys could bind their houses with marriage, but this was better. Jon joining the pack and naming his wolf after a dragon would mean something deeper than just a political alliance. 

“I- I think I'd have to think more on it.” He finally says after a pause. “I have to get to know him, I suppose.” 

It was a good answer. Arya can't wait to hear what he chooses. She tucks a stray hair that escapes from her plait behind her ear. “I named Nymeria after the warrior Queen from Dorne. I like the stories of her the most.” 

Jon lowers his chin and simpers. “Aegon would like to hear that. Rhaenys too, she should be arriving soon from Storm’s End.” 

Arya felt happy for the prince. His family was all coming together for some overly extravagant event. Targaryens, Martells, and Starks, they could all be tied together. Arya would love to visit Dorne one day. 

Behind Jon, Arya can see Grey Wind perk and jump from the bed and arrives at the door just as it opens. “Hey boy,” Robb says as he steps in, she can hear his tone is low until he shuts the door behind him and sees that it is not just the wolves in the room. 

Arya grimaces seeing her brother’s face drop into a scowl. “Arya, are you alright?” Her name is attached to the question but Robb directs every harsh word to Jon. 

She tries to catch his attention so he can see just how perfectly fine she is. “I wanted to give Jon his gift.” 

Robb’s eyes flicker to Arya and she sees how bright with fury they are before they're back on Jon and the pup. “Do you mind, your grace?” His voice is stiff and unnatural. “I’d like a moment with my sister.”

Jon sets his unnamed wolf down, “Of course. These are your lended rooms after all.” He says before striding past Robb to take his leave. 

Arya looks back down to the poor wolf and began to fume. “Why did you do that? He is our cousin.” She lashes once they’re alone. 

Robb’s anger is just as unrelenting as her own. “What are you doing, Arya? You were alone in here with him.”

_ Obviously _ . “Yes, and now I'm alone with you. What's the difference.” 

“Jon is not me. I don't trust him.” 

“Because he beat you sparring? Seven hells, get over it Robb!” 

Robb bares his teeth in disgust. “You're a naive girl, playing with swords is the least of my concerns. Jon is– Jon is not kind, especially to little ladies.” 

Robb’s pride is bruised whether he will say it or not. Arya has spent more time with Jon than Robb and he's been completely normal. He has a dignity about him that she respects and he's brave, most of all he's blood. 

“He's nice to me and I'm a girl, I think I would know better than you. He’s our family and you  rejected him just now! He didn't even take his wolf because you made him uncomfortable.” 

“I didn't know the prince was so delicate, I'll be sure to lower my voice when I'm in his presence from now on.” 

Arya rolls her eyes. “Can you just be nice and not act like a shit.” 

“I told you, I don't trust him and I have good reason not to. You  _ will  _ stay away from him.” 

Robb tells Arya what to do all the time. It's what he does, he's her older brother, but never has he sounded so cruel. Like he was forbidding her from making any choices of her own. “I have good reason to trust him, he's my friend.” The heat of tears flash in her eyes, but only do they threaten and never drop.

“He's your prince by law and that is it,” Robb takes her shoulders in hand and she is forced to look at him. “We must look after ourselves, Arya. I will do anything for you and I know you would do anything for me, that's not something you feel for just anyone.” 

Heart in her throat, Arya knows there's something else. The room is still, Nymeria lays with her head over her paws and Grey Wind is sitting solemnly by Robb. She feels a parchment crinkle in one of Robb’s hands that holds her. “Bran is hurt.” He says so serious yet he's gentle. “Bran is hurt very badly and we are not there with him. We weren't there to protect him and now he's in the hands of the gods.” 

She's afraid to ask but she does it. “What's happened to him?” 

“Mother wrote that he fell from the broken tower. I don't know exactly how that happened, but he's not awake and mother is in tatters. She's received ravens of our befallings and now this happens to Bran…” 

“We need to all be together,” Arya can picture her mother worrying herself to the grave. Hands twisting in one another and her always perfect hair in messy, undone waves. 

“We will be soon. After all this lousy spectacle and frivolity of this wedding, we can go back home.” 

A winter wind sweeps through the room and gives Arya a sickening chill. The white wolf is scratching at the door and she hurries to pick him up and silence begins to take root in the room, Grey Wind presses his head into Robb’s leg and he pushes the largest wolf pup away. “Sometimes, I think they know things they shouldn’t.” 

His words made her feel worse. “I have to give Jon his wolf, Robb.” She wasn’t begging. She was going to do it with or without his consent. He knew this, not bothering to yell or shout for her to stop when she tosses the door open and dashes down the hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried guys _(:o/Г)_ 
> 
> I'm sorry it's been too long since I updated and that it's a short chapter too... I was on vacation, I spent a lot of time in the car so I was writing a ton, but it was a ton of crap. My brain was elsewhere, but I'm back home now and guess what!!
> 
> Driving back through downtown Nashville with my mom, there is a game of thrones con and Iwan (Ramsay) Rheon was there!!! he is a cute cute man, but I never got close because it was like battle of the bastards down there. I saw him tho and I freaked out and my mom didn't understand lol I have to document it to you guys because I've never seen a tv actor in real life and it was weird!! but I'm glad we dealt with all the traffic and people because it was cool to see Ramsay in modern clothes. he had a nice beard going on too 
> 
> ok, one last thing, I know this note is getting ungodly long, but I want to share this. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCtkJUNxVlcy-uFSsn32hKKg
> 
> idk how to deal with links here, but thats a URL to a youtube channel that belongs to a lovely Canadian lady and she offers great videos about the game of thrones costume designs done by Michelle Clapton. I'm obsessed with her videos and I think if you're at all interested in costumes you will too:) If the link thing isn't easy to work around, just type in costume cinematographico <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deeper look into Dany's thoughts, feelings, and hopes.

Twilight paints the sky in pretty pastel pinks and blues. The sun dips lower and lower as dinner wages on and the last of the gifts are presented for the evening.

Dany anxiously twists her mother’s ring around her index finger in her lap. She tries to think of the stars and the moon, making patterns and pictures of them in her mind.

Everyone is here. The realm’s Lord's and Ladies from honorable houses as well as the prideful Princes and Princesses of Dorne.

Dany sees Arianne Martell and Rhaenys on the common floor below the dias. Both girls look lavishly beautiful with saffron toasted skin that continues to glow even though the sun has begun to set.

Dany wishes she could speak with them, laugh with them, trade secrets and even dance with them like she used to be able to do. Instead, she is the honored guest at an event she wants no part of.

Mace Tyrell had been standing before her and Robb for some time now. Round nose in the air, he explains how grandiose and decedent his wedding gifts from the Reach are. Daenerys smiles through it all, but her betrothed visibly bristles. It makes her teeth grind behind her pleasant demeanor.

“Thank you, Lord Tyrell,” she smoothly cuts in at an appropriate time though Mace could go on for hours it seemed. His plump red cheeks rise in a smile before he bows and turns away.

Robb sits rigidly with a scowl carved into his stony face. The idiocy frustrates Dany so much she takes great effort to not scold him like a child, for his temper would surely flare if she did. All that was required of them was to sit and accept wedding gifts, and the only smile Robb spared was for his sister when she presented him a simple iron direwolf statue that was roughly the size of Daenerys’ hand.

Such a small token of a gift compared to the inglots of gold the other lords had presented, yet Robb treated the scrap of metal as if it was his own precious beating heart.

Daenerys clenches her hand so tight she can feel the bite of her mother’s ring.“Have you any respect?” She tries to say softly so no listening ears can hear. “You can glower on your own time but not in front of guests, generous guests at that.”

Robb has brought the cold of the north with him when he finally bothers to turn and strikes Dany with an icy glare. “Everyone is here to make a spectacle of us and to flaunt their wealth. I'm tired of being paraded through the streets in a litter so people can leer at us and being thrown up on a pedestal so people can give us things we don't need. I just want to get this over with and go home.”

He doesn't understand. “It's for the people,” Dany tries to stress. “They need something to talk about, to keep busy with.” They weren't getting married the northern way where all they needed was a tree, this union is not out of love, it's political and so this is how it will be done. They will be shown and paraded around for all to see despite Robb’s selfish wishes.

Dany can see in his stubborn eyes that he still doesn't get it. She takes a breath, thinks of the stars, and turns in time to greet Lord Tywin Lannister with a smile.

He does not return the favor, not even half way. All names, faces, and voices blur together, but Lord Tywin’s is sharper, clearer than the rest. The gift he offers Daenerys is generous though she is slow to react. She is frightened by his unrelenting stare and she doesn't realize her smile has died on her lips and it is Robb who has to thank and dismiss the lord.

“We can leave if you need air, can't we?” He asks and it knocks her out of her stupor. Dany didn't think Robb cared about her well being one way or another.

“I'm fine.” She gently fumes and rustles in her seat. “That man had a stern face.”

“Someone you wouldn't want to cross.” Robb adds and it makes Daenerys feel all the more uneasy. She steels herself quickly and in time to receive Lord– Dany studies the man’s collar on his doublet. There's an embroidery of a trout. “Lord Tully.” She greets. The man is too young to be Robb’s grandfather so it must be his uncle Edmure.

He and Robb share a nod and he states his family’s humble offerings. For the countless time, Dany gives her thanks and dismisses.

Robb thinks he's in misery, he doesn't know true suffering until he has to hide it beneath a smile.

“Are we done being the realm’s toys?” He continues to brood. He complains so much Daenerys is beginning to think it's a game to him.

“No,” she replies coolly, they were always going to be the realm’s toys. “Leave if you want. You're already dishonoring me and our guests by pouting, I don't see the harm in you not being here at all.”

The exaggerated sigh she hears him release makes her eyes roll. “I'll stay.”

“Oh, the gods have blessed me with a truly devout man.” She mock swoons, but only for a moment. “But I urge you to release me of your presence, I urge you to leave for everyone, really.”

Daenerys has never sounded so sarcastic and vile to anyone, so when Robb smiles it makes her brows narrow. “I'll stay.” He says again with mirth twinkling in his eyes, like it's his own private joke to annoy her.

She could be so much more intolerable, but instead of taking the road he wants her to, Dany straightens and goes back to ignoring him.

Alas, he makes it impossible. “Nyke jāhor umbagon syt ao, issa jorrāelagon.”

Dany’s face scrunches in distaste as she's forced to turn and look at her intended again. “When did you learn Valyrian?”

Robb shrugs. “The road to King’s Landing was long and I wanted to impress you. How naive was I? To assume I'd like you and that you'd like me.”

That saddened her, but only for a moment. “Your accent is terrible.” Dany cringes thinking back to his dilapidated pronunciation.

“Aye, I imagine it is. I only had dusty scrolls to consult. No one was telling me if I was saying the bloody words right or not.”

To be frank, she was surprised he could read at all, let alone teach himself a language. Albeit poorly, she could decipher what he was trying to say and it was telling. He taught himself what he thought he’d be using--issa jorrāelagon—my love. It is a pity he held such expectations.

“I think we should have an honest discussion.” This is Dany’s attempt at a peace treaty. She does not want to live a life of hate and bitterness. She wants to at least co-exist with her partner. She must adapt or suffer.

“About what? You and Jon? Why would I believe anything you say? If you honored the truth you would have told me from the start.”

“I don't want to lie, I want to explain. You don't even know what you saw in the gardens.”

“I saw enough.” Robb crosses his arms as he shifts uneasily in his chair. “You slight me, ignore me, and now the night before we are to be wed you wish to explain? If you're worried that I will be–”

he takes a moment to sigh out his grievances, clearly wanting to bring it up just as much as Dany does, “– listen, I won't be cruel to you. I couldn't hurt a girl.”

Daenerys had never thought much of her wedding night, she purposefully kept it locked away in the back of her mind. Thinking of that one night alone somehow seemed worse than spending the rest of her life in Winterfell. Giving herself up, giving her body, to a stranger went against every instinct she had.

She's reminded of why she keeps those thoughts locked away when her breath turns shallow and she's forced to blink back tears. If she cries before everyone she will never be able to look anyone in the eye again. Not any of the lords, her cousins, or even her brothers.

A hand reaches for her’s and stops her from twisting the band of silver around her finger. She's met with freshly melted blue eyes. “I did not mean to upset you.” Robb confesses with all sincerity.

Not a single tear yet spilt and he's already softened from a plane of ice to powdered snow. She doesn't fear him so much as she does having to yield everything to him, and that was something Robb couldn't control. He could be as gentle as he says he is going to be, Dany will still feel dread and loss and pain.

Dany takes a breath, “I believe you.” She says evenly and Robb releases her hand to lean back into his own chair, successfully not causing a scene.

It is hopeless, but once more Dany scans the audience for Jon and he is still nowhere to be seen. It's smart for him to stay away, but his absence is deeply felt. The terrace is overflowing with spectators yet Dany feels terribly alone, and no amount of bride and groom gifts will do to quell the emptiness.

Robb will get to keep everything he has. His life would be nearly unchanged, but Dany’s would be pulled up from the root and laid out to dry as she's in some strange place with strange people trying to get by. Forced to have children she doesn't want and endlessly sit by fires with a scrap of stitching in her lap, that will be her life until she withers into someone she won't recognize. Some northern wife with nothing but heirs and a loathsome husband to her name.

Dany pulls the white rose blooms Arianne and Rhaenys had daintily set in her hair that morning. She won't be delicate flower that gets plucked from her branch to die in some barren frozen waste. The blood of old Valyria flows through her along with dragon fire lashing in her veins. The north will not freeze her, she'll find the strength to be the lone dragon amongst wolves.

As if the gods were playing with her feelings, the wolf pup from beneath the table gobbled up the white roses in her hand that she'd pulled from her hair. Looking down into amber gold eyes, the wolf did not look apologetic.

“Sorry,” Robb says as he looks down and sees petals littered on the floor and in Grey Wind’s mouth.

Strangely, Dany sighs and gives way to a soft smile. “It's fine,” she says beneath her breath and lets Grey Wind have a go with the rest of the roses. There is some great symbolism to be seen here, but Dany couldn't bother herself to come up with anything. Playing with the pup is just the levity she needs to lift the cold chains of marriage from her mind.

Soon there was not just one wet nose vying for her attention but two, tufts of white fur and ruby red eyes pop from underneath the table to steal a rose petal. Dany immediately looks up to the familiar dark curls and grey eyes she knows and her vision tunnels.

The crowd she was once so aware of melts away, their voices, their gifts, gone. “Jon,” she smiles, relief coursing through her, she thought he had left her to fend for herself.

“We have a gift for you Dan, it's really special because you're really special.” Dany cringes at the sound of Aegon’s voice, he still has the habit of speaking to her like she is still five years old.

Dany looks back to Jon and he is just as embarrassed as she is. “It's from both of us,” Jon starts and Dany notices the black ornate chest Aegon is holding, Jon unlatches the lid and uncovers a dragon egg laid in a bed of red silks.

Pale, gentle hands cradle the egg and Dany stares in disbelief as Jon encourages her to take it. It's heavy in her hands and she marvels at how the scales gradient from blood red to black.

“I can't,” her voice is caught high in her throat as she looks up to the men who have always been there for her. Daenerys’ life is her memories and she's shared so many of them with these two. “Jon, Aegon–”

“It's yours,” Jon says with unrelenting certainty. There were only three eggs in the world and they were all Jon’s. Such a precious thing shouldn't be wasted on her.

“He's given me one too,” Aegon nudges Jon, “we’re all going our separate ways but that doesn't mean we lose what we have, what we've built.”

Dany clutches the egg to her chest, ignoring the pricks from its scales. “Will they let you keep such a thing at the wall?”

Aegon presses his lips into an impish grin, “They'll have to pry it from my cold dead hands if they want to take it from me, but don't worry, Aemon won't let it come to that.”

Dany feigns relief, “well thank the gods someone will be there to watch you,” she returns to Jon, he is smiling with broken eyes.

He nods to the egg in her arms, “red and black, fire and blood, you'll always be a dragon.”

Dany aches to reach for him, to damn the table separating them and hold him one last time, but whether it is spoken or not she knows he loves her and she will always love him, yearn for him. Dany conjures all the gratitude and love she can and tries to pour it into two simple words, “thank you.”

_Truly, thank you_ , it all means so much, maybe even more than Jon can know himself. He nods once again and his eyes dart dangerously to the side, Dany has forgotten Robb.

He doesn't look too bothered, dare she even think there is sympathy in his gaze. Dany quickly clears the grief from her throat and focuses back on the egg in her hands. “So, shall we plan a day when we can all meet up with our eggs?”

“You two can bring your eggs, I’ll have a dragon.” Seven bless Aegon and his high spirits, he never fails to stay strong when Dany feels herself crumble.

Jon snorts, “And you're going to be the god that hatches a petrified egg?”

“I better be, I'm named after Aegon the Conqueror. I have to do something amazing, it's expected of me.” Aegon retorts and looks back up to Dany, “you have to do something amazing too, Daenerys the dreamer. You know, so when we all meet again we have exciting tales to tell.”

Dany nods in determination. “I'll do my best, but something tells me you'll have the most to share with all the ghouls you'll see beyond the wall.”

Shifting his weight, Jon crosses his arms unimpressed. “I'll be here, taking care of father, the ultimate sacrifice I’d say.”

“Quite.” Aegon jibes, “you can't go on any adventures, you're too important.”

“And you think you'll have all the adventures? You'll be too busy freezing your balls off to take part in anything exciting.”

A crack of laughter breaks from Dany’s right to join with Jon, it's jarring to hear Robb. “Don't worry Aegon, I'll do you the courtesy you did for me and give you some of my heavier cloaks.”

Aegon is skilled at a great number of things and one of them is knowing how to be the butt of a joke. “I'll be cold, but only to protect you lads. So, you're welcome.”

There is an odd sense of comradery between Robb and Aegon and perhaps in this moment it has even spread to Jon. It is not his way to hoot and holler with joy, but his shoulders rest easily and there is a smile on his face and it makes the evening evermore pleasant.

The bards begin with wispy summery tunes and Dany places her dragon egg in its chest so that Ser Oswell Whent may return it safely to her rooms.

Robb is already gone, pouncing around on the common floor with his little sister while their wolves wrestle amongst themselves on the side. Fair ladies and lords whisper all while pointing scowls toward the creatures. Dany notices now that the hall is dressed with both Targaryen and Stark coat of arms.

The iron direwolf and the three headed dragon banners seem to sway with the music as a breeze passes by.

“My princess,” a melodic voice chimes.

“My princess,” Daenerys returns just as fondly as she is pulled into one of Arianne Martell’s warming embraces.

Arianne’s hand glitters with its jewels as she takes Dany’s hands and they fall into easy steps of a dance that requires little to no thought, “You never wrote that your intended is such a delicious drop of honey.”

“I didn't because he's not. He’s kind–”

“And handsome,” Arianne cuts in, could never learn to help herself.

“Yes,” Daenerys says cautiously. “But we don't get along. He's different.”

“Well I'd like to speak with him before the night is through, i want to see what kind of a man he is before he takes you away, if you give me your blessing that is.”

Dany shrugs, “You have it, but don't say I didn't warn you. They're strange up north.” Dany would be lying if she said she wasn't over exaggerating, but she likes to be just as dramatic as Arianne.

Her dark eyes dash to the young northern lord. “He doesn't seem so strange to me. Perhaps if you went anywhere aside from your nephew’s bed you–”

Shock and adrenaline possesses Dany to nearly tackle the Dornish Princess. “Please, be quiet,” she begs squeezing onto her hand. Dany had confided to Arianne about Jon on her last name day, after all she always had such exciting stories and for once Dany wanted to match her.

“You're safe with me,” Arianne soothes, “I promise I'm not as loose lipped as I seem.” Her voice lowers, “I assume you plan to keep your ordeal hidden from your intended?”

With a tight frown, Dany drops her gaze to the ground and shakes her head. “He knows something is odd between Jon and I, but he will never know much else. He doesn't need to know… he won't understand, not even Aegon fully understands.”

But Arianne understands, Daenerys has never once felt judged with Ari. Her jeweled fingers come to lift her chin. “Look at me beautiful girl, you don't owe anyone an explanation of your feelings. You love, that is all that matters. Too many people in the world don't experience that enough, they experience hate and jealousy. Please when you go, don't turn into one of those people. Stay the same loving girl, don't let the world rob you of that.”

Dany fiercely nods, “I promise. Even on the coldest of days I won't freeze.” It was the pep talk she needed on the night before her wedding.

“Good,” Arianne kisses her forehead, “your husband could be ugly and cruel, remember that the next time you want to cry about Jon.”

An airy laugh escapes and Dany tries to be a courtly tart and roll her eyes, Arianne takes it all in jest. “Or a pillow biter like Rhaenys’ husband.”

Dany's mouth drops, “shh,” she tries to say but bubbles into a fit of giggles instead.

“Have you met him?”

“Yes. We were both at their wedding, remember! Seven help us, they're here tonight.”

“Right…” Arianne ponders for a bit, her forefinger and thumb poised elegantly on her chin. “I wonder how she will turn up with a child. Perhaps steal one from an orphanage?”

“They will need to figure out a way.” Is all Dany says, wanting to drop the topic of the current scandal in the realm. Renly is the sole dependent of his family’s line, if he wants an heir to Storm's End he will have to make one himself eventually.

Speaking of the youngest Baratheon, Dany spots him fancying Rhaenys with a dance. His bedmate choices may be peculiar, but they both look content. Rhaenys writes nothing but good things about him. If they can create a tolerable relationship, Dany can do the same with Robb. After tonight she is hopeful of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter until the very end, but it was either post and move on or spend forever trying to get it right. I hope you guys don't mind and that my struggles aren't too apparent in the writing


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a dance of wolves and dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for explicit content later in the chapter**

_Love, it doesn't just happen. It’s built slowly, carefully over time so that it's stronger._

The words of Robb’s father echo in his mind as he cloaks her, dressing her in a robe of iron for the princess to dawn the direwolf sigil for the first time.

Robb returns to face her over the marble Seven pointed star and knows she’s too exquisite for him. The whole city inside this sept watching knows it. She's a vision of finery and royalty all wrapped in white silk, odd Valyrian features stare back at Robb all doe-eyed and pure.

Out in the front row of pews, Robb can see Arya, Jory, and his father. Arya sticks her tongue out and Robb can only hang his head to hide his smile. His little sister can be merciless at times, but she can't help it. The only way Arya knows how to be is undeniably herself. She's not a lady or a girl being groomed into being a wife, she won't fit in any slot you try to put her because she's a stubborn child.

Arya will follow her own whims until the day she dies, and mother has yet to learn that, thinking a trip to King’s Landing would change her. If anything Arya's learned to like the way she is even more while she's been here.

The High Septon’s voice seeps back into Robb’s ears as a silk wrap is used to seal the union between Wolf and Dragon.

Robb would never say he’s been timid around girls. Why would he be? He loves them, but sitting next to Daenerys in the great hall as dinner is served and wine is poured he finds himself quiet. He doesn't want to say the wrong things to her and he knows if she was given the choice, she wouldn't choose him.

He’s a sheet of ice melting within the flames of dragons up on the dias with King Rhaegar’s family. Music, food, dance, it's all pleasant celebration for everyone else, but to Robb there is a taste of melancholy that sours in the air. He feels it, he knows Daenerys feels it, and Jon feels it. Jon may even be the cause of it.

He was the one to offer Daenerys away in the sept and Robb saw the hate in his eyes. The barely contained rage and sorrow pooling subtly into his features. Celebration is not how Robb would describe all of this, despite the smiling lords and ladies. It feels like a death. Someone is experiencing loss and Robb loathes to think it– of Daenerys and Jon. What they were and why Jon has always been cold to him when he and Arya get along just fine.

Now Robb sits between the two, Jon to his right beside the king, and Daenerys to his left. It is the worst arrangement he could ever ask for. He's a block of ice soon to be a puddle if he doesn't get out soon.

He sees Arya below playing with her food, she's surrounded by adults and Robb would gladly rescue her from the boredom.

“Did you try the honeydew?” Daenerys’ voice chimes and takes Robb off guard.

“What?”

She slides on a sham of a smile, “it is the green slices of fruit.”

Robb looks down at his plate, he hasn't eaten much which isn't like him, but he sees the sides of fruit barely touched. “Oh. I don't know,” he says stupidly. The bits of food he did eat, he consumed mindlessly. “All fruit tastes the same to me.” Sweet and watery.

Now aware of the contents before him, Robb wonders why he's not getting blasted drunk. As he eagerly reaches for his cup of wine he can see his father conversing calmly at his table with other northern nobles.

Robb takes a conservative sip and sets the goblet down. Honor compels him to do this the hard way.

He'd have to talk stiffly about fruit and the weather sober. Seven have mercy and strike him down now. “What about you?” He asks, “how is all of your food.”

“Delicious.” Her plate is just as full as his.

Behind his back there is the light tinkering of armor, a kingsguard up to announce something. King Rhaegar hardly makes his own announcements or declarations, Robb assumes it is because he is too weak to. “Time to bed the newly weds!” The knight cheers along with the audience.

Robb’s eyes flutter in disbelief. “Bedding?” He wasn't ready. No, _no_ , was all he wanted to say but every eye in the hall was on him and the curse of the Tully coloring had painted his skin red.

As he is forced to stand, Robb watches Jon carefully, confused as to why he is standing as well. He takes a step to be by Daenerys and it's made clear when Aegon comes over to join them.

Daenerys is a princess, the traditional bedding ceremony would not be so becoming for a girl like her to take part in it. Jon and Aegon and even Viserys comfort her and guide her down through the crowd to the nuptial chamber. Everyone cheers and and claps as they make their way and Daenerys puts on a smile that is not such a sham.

At least Robb thinks it is genuine, she's radiant and lets Jon twirl her around as if she is in a dance while Aegon is following and tossing up grains of white rice. Like he is showering her with fairy dust. She's happy to be with them, Aegon and Jon. How bittersweet this journey must be for her.

There's something prodding his side. “Hurry, hurry! We are behind!”

“Arya?” She looks flushed and flustered.

“We have to go, I have to escort you, or whatever.”

Robb would be hard pressed not to laugh at her in this state, it also gives him a moment to forget the watching crowd. “Why you?”

“Because!” She shouts and yanks on him so hard he gives in and lets her parade him through the channels of people. “You were supposed to hand pick the girls you wanted to do this, but you never did you ignorant boar!”

Robb puts an arm around her to make love and not war, but that's not always Arya’s way. “I would've just picked you anyway. I don't know any other girls here.”

She struggles against him, fuming, but it only lasts a second before she realizes how short their walk really is. “Your hand is shaking.” She says lowly so the crowd drowns her out, but Robb can still hear. In this moment where everyone can see them, only he is close enough to really hear.

“Is it?” He feigns laughter but Arya, the cunning girl, she sees right through it. She grabs Robb’s hand, the one draped over her shoulder, and squeezes it.

It's ridiculous, never in any circumstance should Robb’s little sister be consoling him. That's his job to do for her. He takes a note from Jon and maneuvers Arya in a spin. She's light and quick on her feet so she takes the surprise twirl with ease and dare he even think, with grace. Too bad he can't shower her with festival rice as well, that would probably earn him a stern glare and a punch in the ribs.

All too soon it’s over. The door to the nuptial chamber is open and waiting for him. Aegon and Jon are on either side of it, waiting like everyone else for Robb to just go in so they can get back to their own merriment of drinking and dancing.

Robb tries to convey with a single look to Jon that he's not in this to hurt anyone, but the prince has his eyes turned bitterly to the floor. Arya nudges Robb's arm to steal his attention.

“Go on and… do a good job…”

Robb almost snorts, but stops himself as soon as he sees her cross her arms and redden. Unlike Robb, Arya doesn't possess the Tully look, it is much harder for her to turn all red like she is. 

“I'm trying to be encouraging…” she quickly adds on. “Seven hells, you should've picked other girls for this. I'm not any good.”

But she's wrong, she's perfect. Robb’s nerves would be rattling no matter who was taking him here. With Arya the edge was at least dulled, until a waiting kingsguard all but shoves him into the chamber.

Door closing from behind, all of the shouts and cheers die down to a clamoring muffle.

She's already taken the wedding cloak off, Robb can see it hanging off of the back of a chair, snarling direwolf and all, but the girl who was once beneath it has disappeared. Confusion wrinkles Robb’s brow as he searches his surroundings. The nuptial chamber reminds him of his own guest quarters, if not for a few more vases of flowers scattered about.

Suddenly the snap of a door springs Robb’s heart from his chest, it's ridiculous that now every little sound makes him jump. He should not be so nervous.

It's an interchamber door that opens and emerging from it is Daenerys Targaryen.

She's more than pretty.

All done up in fine silks and lace, a dress that is so thin it is nearly transparent in the firelight. Robb remembers seeing her one night before, when the moon had bathed her in its light and she looked a silver queen.

Now she's golden and radiant and every bit as beautiful as she's always been. Looking at her makes his chest twinge in the strangest of ways. Fondness for the princess comes all too easy to Robb. For in this moment she's perfect, vulnerable yet strong. Afraid, and still willing to be brave.

“They ripped us away from dinner, I never got a chance to try all the fruit.”

A small smile turns the corner of her lips, but Robb still chastises himself over the lame remark. Daenerys Targaryen is not some kitchen maid he can be silly with and say things to make her laugh or blush so she'd end up in his arms. She's a princess, a keen one at that.

“I suppose none of that really matters now. Are you nervous?” He asks a bit more serious upon feeling his palms sweat. He himself is, indeed, nervous. Robb has never been with a woman, not really, not completely.

“A little,” she confesses while maintaining straight shoulders and a held up chin. “But we've known this moment was coming for a while.”

The way her voice catches in her throat makes his heart ache as a purple mist stares back at him from across the room, pulling him nearer and nearer.

She is in just her shift, a meager bit of fabric that is loose at the top, bending into the valley of her breasts. Robb swallows, “I meant what I said the other night. I don't want to be the cause of your hurt. I truly don't despite some rude things I've said–”

“I know,” she gently shushes him, “and I said I believed you, I still do, and right now that's all that matters. We have to shut out everything, Robb. Shut everything beyond these walls out so we can do what needs to be done.”

He nods fully knowing he can't possibly do that. He won't do that, then this will mean nothing and he can't have that. As foolish as it is he wants to be able to convince her that they could be happy. Some how he wants to convince her that there is a chance for love to take root.

“Love doesn't always just happen,” he begins just as his father did with him this morning, with a shaky unsure voice. “It’s built over time so it’s stronger.”

“Of course.” She replies all too quickly to care about what he was saying, perhaps he didn't have the same meaningful delivery as his father.

In a smooth motion, Dany’s hand skims over his chest until he hears a click at the twin direwolf clasps and feels his cape rush to the floor the same time his stomach does.

“Princess,” he says in a huff while grabbing her wrist as if he is the one scandalized by her actions. “You don't need to do that.”

She swats his grip away, hands returning to rest over his shoulders and slowly sliding down. Robb finds himself entranced by the small, subtle movements. He wets his lips.

“Yes I do,” Daenerys croons softly with a jarring determination dead set in her eyes. Eyes betraying the lullaby of her voice, Robb doesn't know what to think or how to go on or what Princess Daenerys is even feeling.

A hint of nervousness she confessed earlier but now that seems a lie. A nervous girl wouldn't be grabbing the laces to his breeches.

Hands all too close to a certain part, Robb backs away. All his life he's been told a lady should never have to–– that he should be responsible with himself around proper ladies and right now he is unable to control the building strain below the belt.

Looking at her doesn't make it any easier. Her shift does nothing to hide her figure, her perfect figure, and it's prowling closer to him once again. Warm hands soothe up his arms, around his neck, into his auburn curls. “please let me, Robb.”

Her words are enough to make him go blind, never mind her thigh coming up to rub between his legs. Robb curses all Seven gods that no one had prepared him for this sort of divine torture. He's wanted to be with a girl before, but never has it felt so shamefully desperate as this.

His upbringing is screaming to treat her like a lady, but how is he supposed to when what they have to do is so feral and impulsive. His own clumsy hands rest too tightly on her waist as he gets the feel of her. She's warm and beating, thrumming with life.

“Daenerys,” he breathes, overwhelmed, but she is not patient enough to let Robb finish his thought. Quickly, the girl releases her hold from his hair and clamors over his doublet. Undoing all of the facets and tearing it away before starting to yank up the tunic that was underneath.

In this, Robb helps. Swiftly pulling the fabric overhead just so he could lay eyes on her again. Though she could hardly be concerned with looking at him, by the time Robb is freed from his tunic Dany is already climbing into the bed. Like a man possessed, he stalks toward her.

For a second Robb laughs thinking if this is how compliant Theon is in the Winter Town brothels. Somehow he thinks not and his chuckle catches in his throat when he sees Daenerys bend and spread her legs. She lays down with her hand up the bunched skirt of her shift and his eyes are glued to the sight.

Robb’s bones might be jelly, but he is hard. Achingly so, but how could he interrupt? Daenerys has her head thrown back with her mouth ajar and Robb is transfixed on her every movement. The harsh and rapid rise and fall of her chest, her hand, the slight cant of her hips…

And then she moans. “Robb, come here,”

If the room wasn't spinning before, it certainly is now.

Robb follows command up onto the softness of the featherbed, hovering over her just to kiss soft, full, parted lips. His tongue plays with the seams of her lips, curling in to taste her and he is pleased to find she is sweet like vanilla. Perhaps too sweet to be true.

Her hands work in conjunction with her feet as she moves to berid Robb of his breeches. Pulling and kicking down the material until she can feel what could only be him.

The foreign touch is truly something to get used to. Robb is the only one to have handled himself, having someone else do it is entirely different. A whole new world and it's so much better than the old one.

Slowly, she guides him into her, and the feeling is too much to process. Warm, soft, wet, love.

She surrounds him and it brings stars to his eyes. He feels complete and whole and revels in ecstasy for as long as he can. Laying down, clinging to his bride and humming the delight of togetherness, he praises the Seven he once cursed before.

But soon her hips undulate below his and he groans in pleasure at the glossy friction. “Dany,” he utters her nickname in endearment for the first time while fingertips dig into the supple flesh of her hips. “Fuck,” he doesn't want to lose control, the moment he does he knows his time is limited.

There is a break in Daenerys’ breath as she gasps in time with Robb as he drives himself into her, encouraging him to go faster and he does. Instinct overrides any other rational thought until he messily spills within her.

His muscles quake after all their exertion as he collapses over Daenerys, her breast soft beneath his cheek, he tilts up to kiss her again. Content and warm, he thinks love has already taken root in him. He doesn't have to wait years, he is already nestled into love and feeling it's soft caress against his lips.

With a sharp intake of air, he pulls out and already misses being one with her. To make up for the loss of contact he lavishes her neck with his tongue. Kissing and nipping with dull teeth along her clavicle.

Slim fingers tighten within his curls. “Robb… Stop.”

“What?” He says with a smirk, lifting his head to meet with her gaze. “That was so– better. Better than anything I could've imagined.

Love in the eyes, he thinks as he admires her. Rose tinted cheeks and violet eyes, the picture of love and beauty. “Do you feel it?” He doesn't mean to ask it, the words ring as loud as the wind. Hardly there, but she hears.

“Feel what?”

_Love_ , Robb thinks he feels it. He won't say if she won't, perhaps letting time put things into perspective wouldn't be so bad.

Robb shrugs, knowing she's expecting an answer. “Good, I guess? I feel… very good.”

She graces him with a warm smile as her fingers trickle through his hair. “Yes, I suppose I feel good as well.”

Guilt seeps in. Too caught up in his own pleasure he’s forgotten his wife. “You're sure?” Next time he’ll pay more attention to her, kiss her more, touch her the way she was touching herself. The thought of it fills him with desire once more.

She nods and Robb floods with a fervor of happiness. With his palm, he manipulates the warm silk over her ribs up to the curve of her breast. He knows his grin is impish when he looks up to soft lidded eyes. He kisses her silk covered flesh, “you're tired?”

“A little.” Robb feels a tug in his hair and follows, rising up to lay beside Daenerys face to face. She says little else, her fingers come to curl over his shoulders and her head tucks in against his chest until all he can see is soft silvery tresses.

It's nice. More gratifying than Robb would have thought to just lay and be near her. He is so close Robb can feel her chest fall into the deep set rhythm of sleep. Even though he knows he won't rest for some time, it doesn't bother him. He doesn't want to miss the feel of her beating heart or the chance to explore the slope of her back.

Suddenly Daenerys’s hand clenches over his shoulder. “Do you hear that?” She lifts herself up onto her elbows to look around, as alert as Grey Wind would be if he heard someone coming down the hall.

Robb shakes his head until he finally does hear it. Their audience, once before there were cheers and bawdy laughter, now it's been replaced with wails of terror muffling through to the nuptial chamber.

Arya and Robb’s father flash through his mind before he sees Daenerys already gone from his side to retrieve a robe. Adrenaline shoots through him like lightning. Every step and move he makes to redress is a flash.

Leaving the facets to his doublet undone, the door crashes open. A kingsguard, white in the face, wastes not a single second and in a blink he is dragging Robb and Daenerys out their room and down the corridor to a dark passage with no lit torches. All Robb can do is ask for his father and sister but his demands are ignored as he’s shoved along some unknown path. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream turns to memory turns to reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning that this may be the most angsty/problematic chapter I write in this fic.
> 
> another warning that I'm not spectacular at writing angst. please have patience with me as we get through this together lol ps sorry for misspellings/tragic grammar I am but a mere sleepy human

Nothing would have better prepared Jon for this day. In all his time of thought and trepidation, he never imagined feeling so humiliated. Sorrow, pain, and deep longing were what he expected, but facing Robb as he followed Dany into that chamber for him to take his pleasure was more than what Jon could bear. Skin tight over his knuckles, he waits for the shadow of his cousin to pass before daring to look up.

In typical fashion, Aegon wore a mask fit for a king. He always could remain at ease even when the world around is collapsing. “We both know she’ll be okay,” he leans to murmur in Jon’s ear, “she's not going to that bed a maid.” If not for the perusing noble eyes around, Jon would blacken his half brother’s eye for his foul mouth. 

For now, Jon only knows how to shrug. Any more than that and he'd be taken as a miserable, sullen little prick. Aegon would argue that Jon was already born like that, but he's overly critical. Nothing is good enough for perfect Aegon. 

In fact, he’s already noted Jon’s silence and is already shaking his head in disapproval. “Don’t pout. Robb is good hearted, I would know I have taken the time to get to know him. Daenerys  _ and _ you will eventually find peace. Trust me.” 

Jon throws a scowl at Aegon before he feels another set of eyes on him. Arya Stark has a striking glare of her own accompanied by pinched ruddy cheeks. “I don't see what all the fuss is about.” She tilts her head around to note the boisterous hall from the bedding. “It's because they're all drunk. Drunk people are always louder.” 

The little lady is not wrong on that. “If you are ready to leave I can have someone escort you–” 

She reaches out to stop him mid offer, “No! Please, sorry your grace, but I'm tired of being herded around. If I'm not fine with where I am I'll move myself.” 

“Suit yourself, then.” Jon can hear Aegon snicker beside him. Patience is something he has in short supply these days, ignoring the both of them, he veers through clusters of noblemen until he reaches the quieter, more peaceful half of the hall to sit. Much to his chagrin, Aegon and Arya follow to join him. 

“Are either of you in the lists?” The wolf maid asks with peak interest. Jon knows she means the celebratory tourney in the coming fortnight. Jon loves the challenge and competition, but now with his sour mood, he couldn't get himself to care. 

“Yes,” Aegon puts on a rueful smirk, “prince against prince, should be quite a show. A final scrap at play before of go off to live a life of eternal winter.” 

Jon tightens his lips to stop a begrudging frown from forming. Aegon loves to talk about going north as if everyone didn't already know. All it does is make Jon feel uncomfortable and wrong even though he's done nothing. He's not usurping the throne, this is just how it is. Aegon is choosing to leave yet people whisper and conspire that there is a darker reason. 

Arya excitedly leans up over the table top on her elbows. “Yes, my brother is entering the Joust! I am eager to see how he fares, he is the best with a lance in Winterfell, but he was also well off with a sword until I saw him fight here.” 

“Robb can still prove his prowess if he enters the melee, he surely is acclimated to the southern climate by now.” Aegon chuckles, “and there's no doubt he's trying to prove it right now.”

Both Jon and Arya shift uncomfortably in their seats. One more provocation and Jon is sure to show his fury. “Piss off,” he grumbles and shakes Aegon away, unable to shrug off another one of his cruel mockings. 

“Relax,” Jon feels a thumb knead into his tensed shoulder, Aegon is only digging in the wound rather than relieving it. “If you keep looking as distraught as you do you'll worry father.” 

Jon looks up to meet his father’s milk glass eyes. Right over Arya, he can see the king sitting high overhead on the dais while Jon sits low in the commons. “His worries go far beyond me.” 

Jon can’t remember the last time he and Rhaegar had spoken for the pure sake of conversation. If it wasn’t about the crown it wasn’t a priority. The only one Rhaegar tends to speak alone with is Ser Arthur Dayne, not even Hand Connington is privileged to have such an honor… and neither is Jon. 

“Maybe you need a good ale,” Jon’s eyes flicker back down to a youthful, bright eyed maid. “You look awful.” 

Again, her blunt words render him speechless for a moment. “I don't feel well.” He says neutrally as to not act slighted.

“You have deep shadows under your eyes, good thing the tourney isn't tomorrow or you'd be woken up with a lance to the shoulder.” 

“I don't plan on that happening when the time comes. I'm good at the joust.”  _ The best _ . Jon seldom loses, he’s more than a little competent in all things he takes part in. All of his mentors tell him it’s his princely blood that gives him natural talent. Jon doesn't believe all that, he's just observant. 

“So you're in it for the glory? I think that's why Robb is going to do it. For the sport and recognition, my father doesn't approve though. It's not like we really need to win the champion’s purse or anything.”

Never has Jon met a girl so interested in tourney events. “I do it to win, it feels good to win.” 

“Aye, to be better than everyone else? Robb is good at both landing and taking hits.”

“He's big for his age,” Aegon cuts in. “I suppose that's how boys are meant to be in the north, sturdy and bear like.” 

Arya bounces with ringing laughter. “Ser Rodrick used to say he's as clumsy as a bear as well, but he's grown out of that. Now he holds steel with a steady hand. I think Theon had taught him, Theon is good with a bow. He knows how to be precise. I wish he'd teach me, but he refuses.” 

Jon takes a look at her gangly arms if she wants to be a warrior woman she'd have to build the muscle to tug a bow string or hold a blade. “Do women fight in the north?” he asks, hoping he has not over stepped a line.

Arya belts her answer right away, “the women on Bear Island do. I want to go there one day, I want to go everywhere one day.” 

Taller ambitions than just wanting to marry a noble lord. Arya breaks all wheels of convention, Jon can't quite place her anywhere. Daenerys has had similar dreams of travel. She wanted to go to Essos when Winter hits. Tragically, she'll be at the heart of winter when it comes. 

A plague of visions run through his head. Robb taking Daenerys away to a life she doesn't want in the cold. Duty compelling her to open her body to him. It hurts to sit here, helpless to stop it all yet he can't stop thinking about it. 

The temptation to steal her away is all too tantalizing. If he was going to do it, to run away with her and never return, he should've done before this wretched night. He's a coward, Jon could never take an action so bold, he knows it and he's ashamed of it.

Aegon had slipped into conversation with Arya, they're still going on about the tourney and knights when a distinct guttural moan rises above the chattering lofts of people. Hearing the desperate shout made Jon’s blood run cold, frozen in shock.

“Go! Go!,” a white cloak points, “protect your king!” 

Rhaegar sits slumped over in his royal seat. Eyes shut with a bloody bolt embedded into his chest. Jon feels Aegon rise and run to Arianne and Rhaenys while Jon sits dumbfounded, frosted over by shock and confusion until wide hands pinch over his shoulders, ripping him up from his seat. 

Ser Arthur, always the shadow, grabs him and forces him to move, Jon digs his heels to the ground. 

“Arya?” He babbles in an unfocused manner, the girl is gone, lost in all of the panic just as swift as a blink. “Find her!” He commands Arthur, “she's just a girl, find her!” 

Ignored, Jon is thrust and forced to travel on shaken legs. “Is father–?” he asks, dazed. If Rhaegar dies… Jon isn’t ready for what’s next. 

“Go, go, don't stop.” Arthur shoves him forward with each word spat. Jon had hardly recognized the voice of his valiant knight, this isn't like training, this is much more desperate. This is real.

“Father,” again Jon mutters lowly through all the chaos. “go to him,” he pleads, not wanting the succession anymore. Guilt had always ridden Jon, he would rather Rhaegar be a sickly sitting corpse so long as he didn't have to sit the throne with no one left to be by his side. Then again, Jon always imagined Rhaegar would go peacefully in his sleep years and years from now, and not with blood leaking from his already fragile chest. 

Hot tears build as Jon is taken to the docks to a ship already waiting for him with open sails blowing in the night air. Ser Arthur passes him up to another guard while he gallantly returns into the thick of it with bared steel. 

Jon feels bile rise in his throat. Aegon left him, Arya left him, but Dany wouldn't have. He heaves holding onto whatever guard has him now. “Dany?” His call, plea rather, is lost in the salty sea air. 

A yank on his boot has his head whirling toward the strange pull. Two bundles of white and grey grace the deck and once Ser Jaime sees them he unsheathes his blade. 

Jon finds his voice, “Stop!” He commands and bends to pick Ghost and Nymeria up, now perhaps they are too big to be doing this, but Arya would have his hide if he let anything befall them. “They're good,” he explains. 

Jaime doesn't waste his breath and continues on with their hurried pace. “In you go, your cabin your grace.” 

Jon takes a breath and sets the wriggling pups on the ground. “Daenerys?” He asks for her again, utterly afraid of the unknown possibilities. 

“You know Ser Orswell favors her, he was on guard. She must be in his safe hands.” 

Jon felt the boat lurch, already they are taking off to– to he doesn't know where. “She's here then? And Aegon as well?” 

“If we are setting off your father has made it. We are seeking refuge at Dragonstone until we know what that attack was.” 

“I need to see him.” Jon presses forward for the door but Jaime stops him with a hand to the chest.

“Give him some time.” 

Jon shakes Jaime off with a huff.  _ Time _ , he doesn't have time he's dying! The creaky cabin fills with a low growl, Jon can nearly feel how the fur on Ghost’s back spikes straight along his curved spine. “I want out, Ser Jaime, please step aside.” 

A prince he may be, but Jon feels anything but powerful. “Not until I receive the order from my king, your grace.” 

“What if I'm the king at this very moment?” Weakness spills from Jon’s eyes despite all his effort. His fire within now dimmed to a weak glow, Jon shrinks as he looks up to Ser Jaime. “I don't want to be king.” Jon admits for the first time aloud. And what a time to do so, in the middle of a butchering and to Jaime Lannister. 

The knight’s green eyes seem to frown in sympathy. “You will be. Maybe not now, if the gods are good, but someday you will and you may discover that it's not so dreadful.” 

Jon wants nothing more than to bash the Lannister knight’s pretty teeth out. “It will be dreadful, make no mistake about it, Ser.” 

“you don't have to make it so. When you're king it means others can do your bidding. You don't have to be stuck with the tragedies of ruling if you don't want. With a proper Hand I think you'll find ruling to be bearable.” 

Jon nods. The quiet creaking in the cabin makes his skin crawl and itch. “I don't like waiting here for answers.” Ghost snarls again and Jon can feel the animosity point toward Jaime. “Can I send you to see if Dany is here? Please, Dany, Aegon, Rhaenys, anybody.”  _ Arya _ , he shouldn't care but he does. He shouldn't have lost sight of her. If anything happens to her it's on his head. 

Jaime reinforces his stance. “I'm not leaving you unprotected.” 

“What about your family? They're here, they were in that hall. Aren't you wondering about them?” 

Thunder cracks the outside sky and the sea turns fierce, Jon has to stabilize himself just as Jaime shifts with a scorned look upon his face.

Then the door whips open, it is Ser Arthur and without a word Jon rushes toward his side. “This way, your grace,” he quietly ushers Jon on deck through the rain. “He's in bed, the maester won't pull the bolt out just yet, not while he's on ship.” 

Jon settles but only for a little. “Did he ask for me?” He questions wiping the rain from his eyes while Ghost is padding silently close by.

“He did.” Ser Arthur’s reply is short and his pace quickens. 

Jon fights against the pounding rain to keep up, “Daenerys? Where is Dany, Arthur?” 

“Retrieving and sending away you and your father were paramount, the Princess is on a second ship. She shouldn't be far behind, but the storm has separated view.” 

“Jon!” 

A familiar voice shouts to him and he jerks around, dress and hair sodden wet, she looks a lost girl, her wolf has found it’s place at her side. “Arya, how did you get on here?” 

“My father is here, but Robb isn't.” There's a tremble in her voice and it's not from the stormy chill. “I ran to free the wolves. Grey Wind bolted from my sight, he’s protecting them. I know he is.” she is full of hope and fear, a complicated concoction. 

“There's another ship behind ours. Everyone else must be on that one.” Jon tries to ease her anxieties, though he can't quite quell his own. “Do you need shelter?” 

She shakes her head, wet hair whipping in the wind. “I want to be out to see what's going on, but I know my father won't allow it for much longer. I just don't want to be caged in… not right now…” 

“No, you don't.” Jon agrees, knowing captivity is not in anyone’s best interest. Her lips tremble open when he rests what he hopes to be is a soothing hand over her bony shoulder, “I must go, but I’m glad to see you well.” 

She nods once, “Likewise.” 

The master cabin is dark. Lit by only a single hanging lantern, the room could be mistaken as empty if not for the bed in the far corner. Ser Arthur remains guard outside. Nothing but beating rain and the creak of wood fills the bunker. 

The bolt isn't long like an arrow, but it's no less horrific to see protruding from a beating chest. Now that Jon can see closer, it looks like it hit more of his father’s shoulder. Gauze is wrapped around the wound, soaking whatever blood happens to seep out. 

The furs rustle and move until a pale hand reveals itself, palm up and open.

Jon quickly kneels beside the bed to take his father’s hand. Rhaegar doesn't move to sit up, only his eyes open to look long and hard at Jon.. “You look like your mother. I see her in your eyes,” his voice sounds cracked and dry, so Jon leans in to hear. “You know that don't you? Your mother loved you more than anything. More than life itself.” 

_ Lyanna _ . Jon knows her name and then near to nothing else. She was a wolf maiden and foolishly fell in love. Or was it the dragon falling for the wolf, the story is never clear. 

“All I can do is will myself to live, child.”  _ Child _ . The closest name of endearment Jon ever got from his father and now as a man grown it is an insult. Jon squeezes his hand for something else, for something more. He's always wanted more from his father. “I wasn't meant to go on for so long. Not without her….” 

Rhaegar’s eyes fall shut, his hand limp. “Father,” Jon shakes him, keeping his hysteria at bay by watching the slow rise and fall of his father's chest. “Wake up, don't leave.”  _ Child,  _ Jon is crying like a child now. Perhaps he does still acts like one.

“I'm here,” it's a weak breath from pale lips. “–’m here…” 

“Here with me,” Jon whimpers tightening his grip to his father’s dead hand to give him some sort of incentive to stay.

Rhaegar let go, but Jon won't. There was still supposed to be time left. 

Hot, white tears spill down his cheeks. This wasn't goodbye. This isn't good enough to be the final farewell. 

Before Jon was afraid that he'd feel nothing when his father passed, oh how he was wrong. Foolishly wrong. One of the few ties he has left has severed itself away, leaving him in the middle of a storm. Now lost at sea, Jon is being pulled under to drown. 

“I can't do it,” he tells Ghost as he swallows back a sob, wishing for the mother he never had to lend him strength. To love him as much as his father claimed she did. 

Grief hit hard. Even Ghost feels it, the wolf seldom makes a sound but now there is the distinct whistle of his cry filling the cabin. Jon releases his father’s fingers. He'd gone cold. 

“Jon.” He didn't hear the door creak open, but Arthur stood cautiously at his back. 

The knight knew he was dying. Jon can't will himself to speak. He knows nothing would come out clear anyways. 

Arthur says nothing more, but he doesn't leave either and silently Jon thanks him for that. His warm presence is felt and it is the best Jon could ask for. Just knowing he’s there and saying it is okay to grieve makes Jon ease into mourning, if such a thing is possible. 

But it is short lived. The door bursts open, and this time Jon hears it. Jon Connington rushes in with the grand maester in tow. The pair rush to King Rhaegar’s side and Jon sees now that Ser Arthur was guarding his peace. Making sure Jon got one last moment before life crumbles in. 

Jon displaces himself out of the way, stumbling back to Ser Arthur with Ghost. “I think I have to go.” Jon says while watching the maester fret over a white haired corpse. 

“Jon,” Arthur murmurs sadly through the rain. The white knight that has protected Jon since he was just a babe finally breaks character this once. He doesn't need to say any more, the arm over Jon’s shoulders to escort him away is not for protection, but for comfort and for right now it is enough to hold him together.

-X-

Day and night Jon listens to the sound of waves hitting black craggy stone. He watches the white tide beat itself over and over against the wind torn shore. 

The beaches on Dragonstone are dark, damp, and cold. Nothing like home. King’s Landing is bright and feels as though it is in eternal summer. Jon knows his father spent a lot of his life living here, on this dark stormy island. Somehow Jon thinks Rhaegar preferred it here. 

“Jon.” 

He knows her voice now. He even pities her and her father for having to stay so long in such a strange, eerie place. Dragonstone may be newer than her ancient home of Winterfell, but it’s built to intimidate outsiders with ravenous dragon imagery and cave like halls. 

Jon looks down from the waves and to the wet grey sand. He hasn't seen Arya Stark since they docked and she and her father shared their condolences. 

“Have the watchers seen anything?” He asks, knowing that they have the same worry in mind. 

“No,” Jon doesn't think he's ever heard her voice so quiet. He turns and she's in an all black mourning gown like much of castle is. Black dress and red eyes. “But the storm could've carried them way off course.”

Or they never even got to the docks in King’s Landin, Jon thinks bitterly. Daenerys has only ever been mindful to her duty and now to be punished by the gods and lost at sea or dead– it's not fair. Jon has never felt so much loss and it hurts more than he could have ever imagined. 

“They'll be back.” Arya displaces some sand as she sits beside Jon, her little white toes burrowing into the ground she stares at the sea just as he does. “Robb, Aegon, princess Daenerys, they'll make it. We just have to wait.” 

But Jon’s already accepted the fact that they're dead. His father was supposed to wait to die. He didn't, he gave up. It's all too easy just to give up. “I'd like to sail east too.” He whispers, recollecting back to when Arya mentioned she wanted to travel. 

He feels her turn to look at him, even she knows he's not supposed to say that. “Can you?” 

A cruel, harsh laugh leaves him, “can you?” 

He regrets being so insolent immediately, the small girl beside him hugs in her knees as she pouts toward the horizon. “I will.” She says with all determination. “I’ll learn all there is to learn in the world and I'll go where I can be a fighter and I'll help people. People like me. Misfits.” 

Everyone has dreams, but seldom do they come true. “I wish you good fortune in your endeavors, then.” Jon can taste the salt on his lips as he says it. He's been out here for too long.

“I'm sorry about your father…” Arya murmurs suddenly, “I really, really am. He was nice to me. I imagine he was nice to everyone.” 

“Not always. Gentle and calm, maybe. He was always stoic, but just because my father would've rather listened to a harp play than watch a fight doesn't make him a great man.” He has no idea what he's trying to say, but he can't stop his words, his feelings, from spilling. “I admired him and his bravery, but what he fought for was often times at the expense of a lot of people. People he seemed to not care at all about…” Elia Martell comes to mind, but Jon pushes that train of thought away. 

Lips quivering into a frown, Jon strains for a steady breath. “I'm not glad he's dead. There was a time that I thought perhaps I would be when this day came, but I'm not. I'm– I don't know.”

“Alone,” the word strikes hard though it came from a soft voice. “You may feel that way but you're not. I know Robb is out there and if he is then Daenerys is too, and Aegon. Your family is still here. I am still here, Ghost too.”

Arya has the notion stuck in her head that a dragon can be apart of a wolf pack. A chill runs up Jon’s spine when he hears Nymeria howling at the setting sun. He looks to Arya and in her eyes he can see her relentless hope. She truly believes all of the things she says. It makes sense Jon supposses, Arya Stark is just that.  _ Arya _ . She means what she says, trickery and double speak is not in her nature. It’s an admirable quality. A charm of the north, Jon thinks.

“The sun is pretty. I never see it this orange and close up in Winterfell.” 

When she says it it is like the world has fallen into peace. The sound of the sea and birds are able to drown out the constant unsavory thoughts running through his head, if only for a moment. A long, long moment. The silence between them had grown so comfortable Jon forgot time. It wasn’t until the shock of cold water at his feet drew him from his merciful stupor. 

Jon rises from the sand for refuge of the high tide and offers a hand to Arya. “I’d like to stay a bit longer.” 

Jon nods, “Enjoy your evening.” he bids before turning away and climbing back up to the stone steps with Ser Arthur at his heels. 

When he arrives to his temporary quarters, Arthur keeps his door open with a strong hand. “I can stand inside if you'd like, your grace?” 

“No need. I'm going to retire.” 

“So early?” 

Jon pauses his rummaging in his chest for fresh clothes and sighs, “yes, so early. I'll see you tomorrow.” He doesn't turn around until he hears the door snap shut and sees that he's the only one left in his room. 

When he's dressed and ready, he finds that sleep comes easy to him. He's been tired since Daenerys’ wedding night. No matter how much he sleeps he never wakes rested. He could sleep for days, he thinks, and still he'd crave for more of it. 

Warm hands pull him from a dreamless slumber, it feels as though he’d nodded off for a minute or two until he realizes the room is shrouded in darkness. 

Blurry vision pulls into focus on a mirage of silver and purple. Perhaps his sleep was not so dreamless, or this is a distant memory during times of freedom, “Dany,” he whispers as he outstretches his hand to curve around the soft apple of her cheek. She leans into his touch, the pressure of her there feels real. 

Jon leans up, grabbing her, pulling her closer into his arms until he can feel her breath. Warm air brushes over his lips, leading him to press his lips against the fullness of hers. 

Over her shoulder, Jon can See Ser Arthur Dayne standing in and watching by the door. This is no dream. 

“Leave us, please,” he utters while clinging to the fabric of Daenerys’ bodice. Once the knight has left them to their privacy, Jon cannot contain the burst of emotion that overcomes his being. “Dany,” he gasps into the delicate skin of her neck. Silken strands of silver tickle his cheeks. “You're okay?” He squeezes her into a hug so tight so that she’ll never part from him again. 

And the world fades back into color when she embraces him back. “Quiet Jon, just be quiet,” she orders, slim fingers coming to tangle perfectly in his hair. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,"

_ Sorry _ . Sorry for what? The loss of Rhaegar? Surely she knows she is more family than he ever was. She and Aegon. 

Desperately, Jon pulls at her. Bringing her up atop his bed and loosening any laces he can in the process. That's all he wants, skin on skin warmth and life and her. That's all he's ever wanted. 

In a rush he's over her, just like the tide over the shore, kissing her neck, lavishing her skin with his lips. He's secured in with her knees on either side of him, he doesn't hesitate to sink down lower and lower until he feels Dany tugging the curls on his head. 

Looking up, he sees mist filled eyes. “I'm married,” she cries quietly into the dampened air. An uncomfortable stillness beholds him until he moves his way back up in one smooth motion to tuck some bits of tousled hair behind her ear.  

“I did not forget.” Jon says pressing a tentative kiss to her forehead. They do not have to speak of their dishonorable acts, but in this moment between dream and memory their sense of duty blurs. 

And that's what Jon wants. To lift the iron bars of duty and be free to follow the whim his heart screams for. “I thought I had lost you, truly lost you. Not to Robb or any other man, but to the sea.” 

Now Jon can see how foolish he was for dwelling on her leaving. Daenerys leaving is a much more savory thought than her dying. 

“I'm here,” she cups his cheek and pulls him down for another heart wrenching kiss. He holds her tight, completely convinced that he can never let her go again. 

“I needed you,” he pants, tracing up the boning of her corset to the meet with the underside of her breast. He can feel her breath stutter beneath his hand. “You, it's only ever you that can save me.” The only thing that makes him feel whole.

The silence of a sad smile rests upon her lips and suddenly Jon can see the wet track of a tear down her cheek in the moonlight. He fervishly leans into her hand at his cheek, reveling in the contact. “Would it be a crime for you to stay?”

Daenerys blinks her hesitation, “I can stay a little while longer.”

Jon winds his hands into the thick curtain of her hair trapping her into a kiss and Daenerys is a willing prisoner. It’s a desperate meeting of a clash of teeth and tongues and the scrape of his stubble against the smooth curves of her face.

He’s deprived himself the last few days of thinking this was ever possible again, of ever being able to see the only real family he has left in the world. Usually he is careful, soft, and slow with her, as if he could put his heart into her hands and show her his love in the care of his lips and tender touches. Now, impulse urges him to ravish her. Never able to be close enough, he clings to her lifting her off the bed to hold her in tight. She beats the chill of the storm away, her body soft and hot they work in tandem to hike up the skirts of her gown. 

Her freed legs wrap around his waist and he deepens the kiss swallowing up her needful sounds. She has a power to her, a gift that allows Jon to forget himself and who he is. When they are alone she is all that matters to him and he is all that matters to her. Damn what anybody else’s expectations of them may be.

Like the wading tide, he washes over her. Mouth hovering hot on hers as they connect as one. “I love you,” he remembers repeating when they both climb down from ecstasy. Lacing his fingers messily through her braids, he is ever so thankful to have her. She may not be his anymore, but he can leave his heart in her hand for her to take and it will be enough knowing she is out there still breathing with it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stormy morning.

Light is so hard to come by here. The day broke grey and overcast, much like Winterfell does, but there was no snow to brighten the air. Only a light drizzle of rain and it stole all the energy Robb had.

Not that he'd be eager to get out of bed even if he had woken to sunshine. The king is dead. No one is happy to rise, except for perhaps the man that had done it.

Daenerys still sleeps, her breath deep and slow beside him. They arrived late last night with the weather much how it is right now and then they were told the news. Rhaegar did not make the voyage. Robb could feel the tremble in Daenerys’ knees and let her go. She had even forgotten the eggs she begged Ser Oswell Whent to go back for.

Robb decided he'd carry the chest of dragon eggs to the castle, the most valuable things in the world, and he'd dropped them all once he got a look at his sister safe and perfect inside the Targaryen's dark fortress.

He hugged her just as tight as she hugged him and they didn't let go until the cold presses of wolf noses came to prod their cheeks. Nymeria and Grey Wind felt every bit the reunion as Robb and Arya did. Robb had hugged his father as well, grateful to have him.

Now, Robb turns over to see his wife, she's still sleeping. She is still so new to him, he doesn't know how she grieves, or what she needs. He can't tell one of her blank looks apart from another. He wishes to understand, he just can't. Not yet, at least.

She's taking up most of the bed, which is rather large to begin with, but Robb doesn't wish to disturb whatever peace she finds in sleep. He also doesn't want to crash to the floor.

Gingerly, he smooths a hesitant hand over her shoulder. She barely stirs. He sighs in trying to work with her rather than against her. As carefully as he can, he turns and lines the curves of her body with his own. There is more room this way rather than with their backs turned on each other.

It still doesn't feel right. He should've just got up.

He tries to do just that but then the shock of her voice stops him. “Robb…”

The noise she makes, it can't be mistaken for anything other than sadness. “yes?” He doesn't know how to help sad girls, not even Sansa (though he loves her enough to try).

And now he misses Sansa. So so so much, he misses her, Bran, and Rickon and mother and Winterfell. _Bran_ , Robb thinks of Bran and his head spins. He hasn't heard any more news of his condition.

But that is all small compared to actually losing a brother, isn't it? Daenerys says nothing more, but she looks over her shoulder fingers crawling and reaching for something.

Robb lays back down beside her, even giving her his arm so she can hold onto something. It is still so strange to share a bed with someone he is not comfortable around, especially in these circumstances.

Robb doesn't even know how close Daenerys was to king Rhaegar.

Thunder rumbles through the room and it makes the quiet all the more disturbing. Robb rustles as much as he can with his arm over her. Straining to look over to see out their large window to the sea outside. It looks dark and deadly out there. Black imposing clouds roll in as fast as the wind can carry them.

“I was born on a night like this…” Robb turns back, Dany’s voice is small and half muffled into her pillow. “A truly awful storm to welcome a truly awful witch into the world.”

Robb scowls at the harsh words. “Witch? What makes you a witch?”

“I love the wrong person.” The answer is easy to her. “I love someone and to most it's seen as unnatural.”

_Jon_. He knows she's speaking of Jon and it puts stress over his mind just to think about them again. “I don't judge you on that…” he's not sure if he's telling the truth. They'd been raised together as brother and sister by wet nurses. It would be like if Robb loved Sansa in that too close way. And that is just something he can't feel or relate to.

“If you're telling me to piss off, I'll leave. I don't– You see, I'm not really sure how to go about this. If I should be angry- if I can even be angry? Your brother and the king just died and–” he just wants to be at Winterfell is all. Back home to the lands he knows and is familiar with so he can see his brothers, his sister.

“Should you be angry? Should I be sad? I don't know. I just want to go back to normal life.”

Normal, Robb suspects she means a life without him. “I'm sorry I'm not what you wanted.” He's not sorry at all. In fact, he's beginning to sour as she still holds onto his arm. “You're used to getting what you want, aren't you?”

Her fingernails press into his skin for a moment. _Yes_ , she was a princess who willed those around her to bend to her whim simply because she's sweet and she could. Even now she takes up all of the bed without leaving a suitable space for Robb.

“Does it look like I'm getting what I want now?” She questions miserably and Robb yanks his arm from her.

She sits up and whips around to face him, her scowl as piercing as a lance. He's provoked the dragon.

“Now it doesn't.” He challenges, brows raised. “From what I've seen you've never lived a dark day in your life. Even when under attack you send Ser Oswell back into harm's way for some petrified eggs, he did it why? Because you fluttered your little lashes all prettily? If he had died would you have mourned him, or just the eggs?”

He felt the sting of a slap coming on, he almost wanted it because it's what he expects of her, instead she prowls closer nearly forcing him off the bed but she ignored all that.

“I bat my eyes at Ser Oswell because he wants me to, he got my eggs because he knew that's what I wanted. Everything's a trade. Some give more, others take even more. It's not my fault I know how things work and use it to my advantage. Tell me it's wrong all you want, my instincts will always come to their own conclusion without your moral lecturing.”

Perhaps she's right, she is a witch.

Her delicate little hand wraps around his jaw, “on our wedding night I did what you wanted and in return you gave me love and affection–”

“I never said I loved you.” He jerks out of her grasp.

“It was in your eyes. You're quick to love and quick to anger, is it so bad that I preferred you love me rather than hate me? Even if I do not return the favor.”

Robb’s chest constricts, how could a sweet face be so rotten. How could he be such a fool for falling for this manipulation. Robb swallows down the fury in stomach. “If you resort to tricks to convienence yourself, then why are you telling me this? I could've been your fool for years.” He admits to her with gritted teeth.

She softens then, returning to her own space instead of invading more of Robb's. “Because you're not like the men I've met. You're honest and painfully oblivious to anything that isn't at face value. You're different and I mistook that for something more sinister given your reputation… apologies…”

_Apologies_ , Robb sits up aghast, “what of my reputation could have possibly spread all the way to King’s Landing. I've done nothing to warrant such talk.” He'd never rode valiantly into battle or disgraced his family. Robb believes he's rather tame.

Daenerys blinks as if she cannot fathom what she is hearing. “You mean you don't know what they all say of the young wolf?”

The name strikes him, the young wolf, why would he have such notoriety. Robb humbles himself in acknowledging he's done nothing extraordinary nor has he done anything so despicable.

He shrugs, “what? Is it still about that time I almost threw my cousin, Sweet Robin, out the moon door? Because I swear to the old and new gods I never once considered doing it for real.”

“There was that, among other things.”

She's being coy now and Robb doesn't appreciate it. “Like?” He snaps back.

“Like how you are your uncle Brandon reborn. You love to pick a fight and drink look for trouble. You're quite liberal with yourself around girls, but since our wedding night…”

He doesn't need to hear anymore, Robb feels his blood rise and he knows his cheeks have flushed like some green boy, just like he was that night…

“It was obvious that it was your first time–”

“Enough,” Robb slices a hand through the air to get her to stop. “You've discovered rumors weren't true, that can't be such a shock for a girl who had grown in the acrid heart of King’s Landing.”

“I was given enough time to imagine what kind of monster you were ever since our engagement was announced, and I can imagine quite a lot.”

Robb shakes his head as he blows out a stressed sigh. They had been promised to each other since they were twelve and all this time she's hated him-- or the idea of him. All the while he imagined her as a little angelic dove and even more amazingly she did not disappoint him when he saw her… and his hopes were quite high…

But now at present, it is a different story. “So I'm not as rotten as you thought me to be and you're really two day old cheese sitting in the hot sun.”

Her nose wrinkles at the comparison. “But in a prettier package.” He adds to lighten the blow, but it some how makes it seem worse.

Daenerys gathers her pride, tilting her nose up, “Perhaps that is the jist of it for now. If any consolation is to be made, know that I am telling you the truth now and always if the gods are good.”

Her little hand slips through the furs to connect with his. “I have one more thing to confess to you.” Her grip tightens and Robb finds himself leaning ever so slightly into her sharp stare. “Before I came to you last night, I was with Jon.”

“Yeah,” with her piercing gaze Robb had expected more, “I assumed you were. I mean, with the tragedy of the king and your affection for him and Aegon, I assumed you would be there to find comfort.”

“Robb,” she says his name so softly, like if she was talking to a sleepy baby. “Aegon wasn't there, it was just me and Jon and I broke a vow to you I’m sorry.”

Robb had never felt betrayal until now. No nick from a blade or a fist to the eye hurt like this, this pain ran within and there isn't a bloody thing Robb can do to quell it. “I expected more from you.” He finally says, as if she would care. “You really have no honor for yourself or anyone else.” No, because she's selfish.

Anger brushes her away and carries Robb to the door. Before he grabs the handle he pauses. What can he do? Confront his cousin? His king? Tattle on her to someone who doesn't care and be humiliated?

He turns back to the bed, she looks so small in it. Gods, she's good at looking innocent. Robb changes his mind and goes to back to her, taking her shoulders so he can look into her eyes. “Nobody will hear of this-- ever. Do you understand me? You've broken trust and now we have nothing.”

“We had very little to begin with.”

Saintly Mother, strike him down if he strikes this woman. “Do you enjoy being a pain? _Gods_ ,” he releases her and takes a step back. “When we finally go to Winterfell you will have no one except for me, and you've pissed me off beyond repair. Say what you want of the gossip about me, I never would have dishonored you like that. I still won't because I swore vows, vows I take seriously.”

“Do you think it was easy for me to tell you all of this? I didn't have to do it, but I did because I like that you do care so much. I'll have to live my life with you thinking I'm a whore, but I won't regret telling you because you're not my fool. You're a better person than I'll ever be and that was not something I ever anticipated.”

Vague flattery rolls right off his back at this point. “Sleep more if you wish, I’m going to see my family.”

•••

Finally, he'd found Grey Wind on the wet cold shores of Dragonstone playing with Nymeria. The storm had resided into a soft drizzle and Arya could care less if her fine little plaits got wet. “Father let you come out here alone and in the rain?”

“No,” she says and Robb smiles. “But I can't stand it in that castle. It reeks of death and everyone I look to has the same dower look on their face. I feel bad, I really do, but I can't handle everyone else feeling the same. It's too much.”

Robb can agree on that. Everyone is in black mourning clothes and speak in whispers as if that would soften the pain.

Arya drives a stick into the wet sand, creating little meandering patterns. “Have you seen our cousin today? Neither he nor you appeared to break fast this morning.”

Robb releases a deep sigh. If he could go on living without hearing of his cousin he'd be blessed by the gods, alas his cousin is his king. “Why would I have seen him. He's locked himself in his room, hasn't he? Crying over his lot in life though he’s the bloody king of Westeros.”

“He's allowed to be grouchy, his father just died!” Arya stops her playing in the sand to point a sharp glare at Robb. “What do you have to be grouchy for?”

“Why do you defend him all of the time?”

“Who?”

Robb laughs as if she had just made a joke. “Jon, you're always kissing up to him even when he's not here.”

“I don't kiss up to anybody, he's my friend and I'm going to defend him when he's not here to defend himself. I'd do the same for you.”

Robb is too old to pout and too young to slander his king. “Sorry Arry, I'm just–”

“Angry.”

“Yes. It must be all of the stress in the castle getting to me.” He lies, too upset to even give the vague truth that it is his wife that plagues him. “I wish I could be as strong as father during these times and keep a level head.”

“He's sent word to the Manderly’s you know. A ship from White Harbor is coming for us so we can finally go home.”

Robb’s eyes go wide. “You're lying.”

“No, if you had showed to break fast you would have heard it yourself.”

The news feels too good to be true. “Maybe when we get home everything can be normal again. With Sansa, Bran, Rickon, and Theon. The pups will be back with their littermates, all will be well.”

The line dashed in Arya’s brow said otherwise. “It won't be normal.” She says lowly, breaking her little stick in half. “Shouldn't someone stay with him? Jon, I mean. Once we go with the princess and Aegon what family will he have? Viserys? That pomp twat would sooner kill him for the throne, he's so greedy!”

Robb has really come to the wrong person if he wishes to escape his own problems. “I'm going to say what I'm not supposed to say; I don't care. I care about you and the North and the wolves and that's it. Let the crown sort itself out.”

“I heard people talking in the dragon hall, there is no one here that cares for Jon. Not even his kingsguard. They all just want to use him for their own ambitions. He's our cousin, Robb.”

Cousin to Arya maybe, to Robb he's dead. “Talk to father if you're so worried.”

“Why do you think someone had Rhaegar killed? To get to Jon when he's most vulnerable and he's part of our pack if we leave him he'll die. Do you want to ignore this and be a kinslayer?”

“No one else is dying, you're troubling your mind for no reason.”

Arya folds her arms over her chest, it is the telling sign that means she is done listening to whomever is talking to her. “Stop telling me I don't know anything.”

“That's not what I'm saying.”

“But it is!” She whips right back. “I heard Ser Jaime Lannister speaking to his father, the Lannisters think they can control him. Why can't he decide what kind of ruler he wants to be for himself? Why do people always assume what's best for others?”

“What do you want me to do about it! Smuggle King Jon off of this island? It's none of our business what goes on with the crown, Arya.”

“It's not just about the crown, brother. He's our family. Family, Duty, Honor in that order Robb!”

Robb rolls his eyes. “I'm leaving. If you were wise you'd come with me before you get sick out here.”

As he walks away he can hear her sneer, “yes, if I was wise…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter seems clunky. I wrote myself into a kerfuffle and this is me flailing a bit. I hope there is still enjoyment to be had from it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> courage can be found in unlikely places

“You can't mean to, your grace. Not so soon.”

Ser Arthur’s nostrils flare as Jon begins to pace to avoid eye contact with the golden knight. “I must. What ruler would I be if I stayed in hiding? The people won't trust a recluse.” High tales of his madness would spread like wildfire.

Jon pauses once he hears the solar door creak and just like that a hand claps over his back in a congratulatory pat as if he had won some tourney trophy.

Jaime Lannister’s teeth sparkle into a grin as he gives Jon a small shake. A too familiar gesture to one’s king, Jon thinks. “Heading back to King’s Landing so soon are we? The commoners will shower you with praise.”

Arthur ignores his fellow knight and speaks directly to the boy in his grasp. “Don't you wish to know who ordered death to your father before returning? There is no shame in waiting for some stability and allowing time for you to grieve.”

“I've grieved.” Jon says sharply with an unbecoming frown etched onto his face. “I want to go back, put my father to rest in the crypts, and show that I am not afraid. Whoever did this to my family will pay in time and I won't be stuck on this rock when it happens.” King's do not cower in fear. King's take action, and do his duty to his people regardless of the risks.

Jon gathers himself and softens toward his faithful guardian. “Ser Arthur, I’m sure this is what I want to do. How could I be scared with you at my back?”

The old knight loyally bows his head and Jon detaches himself from Ser Jaime. “For my whole life you've looked after me and I know you have my best interest at heart, but I have the people to think about.” Jon now has everything to think about he sighs as the overwhelming reality takes hold.

Arthur relents his battle and gives in. “I am your knight, not your Hand. Forgive my apprehension, your grace.” He says just as respectfully as he would to Rhaegar.

“Thank you,” Jon says warmly before steeling himself off again. “Start making the needed preparations to leave in the coming week. Make sure my father’s bones are– just– keep them safe.” It is hard to think his father is just a skull and bones now. His body had been deteriorating for years and his eyes grew clouded, but you could still see a certain spark of life within them.

Arthur nods and takes Ser Jaime along with him to do as Jon bid. Finding refuge from the stagnant air in that gloomy solar, Jon is somehow able to wander to shore by himself. After taking his inheritance of the crown it felt like he was incapable of doing anything by himself. Someone is usually always there to watch him or talk at him, some even pestered him when to eat and wouldn't leave until he had completed a meal.

Solitude on the beach, as chilly as it is, is still the most peace he is going to find in a long time so he breaths in the thick salty air and rolls his shoulders.

Like some sort of animal, he sees Arya Stark through the fog crouched on one of the craggy rocks in the shallow tide. She doesn't see him as her back is to the castle so she can watch the waves roll in around her.

Jon snorts to himself, he mostly sees this girl on the beach in old trousers soaked to the knee, much like they are now. No one seems to ever be watching her, which is probably why she's hardly a proper lady. Spending too much time with her brother and wolves she is trapped as some wild child.

Jon’s eyes on her back must've pricked her instincts as she unceremoniously turns and spots him on the beach straight away.

Her platinum stare catches on him through cloudy oceanmist, but she stays put, her mouth pulled into a worried line.

“Jon?” Daenerys’ voice hits just as the incoming waves do and Jon twists to see her. Most of her hair his held together in uniform braids, but her dress still flows freely and is taken with the wind.

A smile threatens a corner of his mouth. “It's cold, you shouldn't be out here.” He notes her hands cupping over her elbows and her tense shoulders, but still her delicate frame sifts through the fog until she is just a step away.

She really is a sight for sore eyes, it had been days since he seen her last. Cooped up and dealing with tedious logistics of taking succession, Jon feels like he's finally out of the dungeons.

Out of the dungeons but still a prisoner, Ser Arthur is back a ways and looks like a ghost in the distance, skewed by the misty air. Jon wonders how long he’s been there. Had the last few moments only been an illusion of freedom?

But that thought is pulled and hidden deep in his mind when his attention returns to Dany. In this fog Arthur looks like a ghost, but Daenerys looks like she belongs in it. She is a bright silver image, edges blurred as if she were a painting.

Pale as the moon, but her red lips cut through the grey air like a knife. More than anything he desires to hold her and kiss those vibrant lips.

_Real love_ , this must be real love for wanting to do something so stupid. With Arya Stark knowingly behind him, Jon feels no fear as he pulls Dany into his arms. The touch of her bare arm makes him feel a lot less trapped as he's taken back to their childhood. Like he is living in a ghost of his memory and there can be no consequence.

Now it is Dany who acts chained, her feet stuck in their place in the sand. “Don't,” her arm withers away from his grip.

Aegon must've gotten to her again. He has a gift of always making Dany feel guilty for not acting as perfect as he does. “You're leaving soon.” Jon says stiffly so he doesn't put much emotion out. He's drained of all sorrow, he thinks.

“Any day now.” A tremble of fear shakes her voice and her hands go to her skirt to nervously wring the fabric. “I'm scared. Arianne told me not to be and to stay the same but I know I won't. There is nothing to go back to and worse to go forward to.”

Just as her face contorts into a near sob she takes a deep breath and bites in her lower lip to stop its wobbling. “I shouldn't even be out here, you're right.”

Jon grabs her shoulder to keep her from stepping away. “I wish I could've seen you yesterday. People have been at my ear telling what I should and shouldn't do, but not a moment went by where I didn't miss you.”

“Miss me? You should forget me, Jon. We’re not children anymore. We were fools– we _are_ fools–” Dany links her arm around his and she leads him through the thick of the fog as they walk down the shore.

Silence settles comfortably over them for a time and to Jon it feels nice. He's not alone and the company he has he genuinely wants and loves. His mind is at ease all until a shuddering voice wracks him.

“Don't write me.” Dany’s voice strains to keep from crying. “Don't write me at Winterfell, you can't.”

“ _What_? Why not?” No one is going to stop him from writing. What is the harm in that anyway.

“Please.” Dany stops and takes both of Jon’s hands in her’s. Her eyes are raw and red and awful, yet she still looks like a painting. “I'll write to you if I can, but don't write me. Not ever.”

Jon’s not in a ghost of a memory, no. Daenerys would always be reassuring and promise that they'd make it work somehow. Write. They had always promised they would write each other if nothing else. It was the only comfort that kept Jon sane for all of this time.

“Ro–” Dany begins in a broken voice but is cut off by a grizzly snarl. Daenerys lets go of Jon and his instincts make his feet swift as he turns and shields Dany from whatever has hobbled up on them.

Fog plays with his vision, but Jon is certain he sees Arya Stark on a man’s back, her arms hanging onto his neck as the man grunts and thrashes to be rid of the girl.

It's what he sees but still doesn't quite believe, especially when he finally can see that the struggling man is Jon Connington. “Stop,” Jon says as he walks closer, vision becoming more clear. “Arya,” Jon takes her off of Connington and sets her on the ground, her brows all furrowed and distressed.

“He was coming up stumbling behind you.” She explains.

Curious, Jon turns and is dwarfed by Connington who is swaying unsteadily on his feet and Jon jumps back seeing his groaning, round face.

“Connington! What's wrong with you? You have the _rot_ or something?” Jon can't help but grimace unpleasantly at his supposed Hand. His mouth and teeth are all black and leaking and his eyes protrude out from his head.

He growls and swings one of his arms toward Jon who is quick enough to jump back again. “ _WHAT'D YOU CALL ME BOY_!” He bellows and it's clear he isn't himself. Connington had never had much love to spare Jon, but he also never attacked him.

Arya conjures up a bit of dry wood and tries to take him out at the knees, but it's no use, the wood is too light. “He's drunk?” She yells amongst the chaos and Jon legitimately doesn't know the answer to that. He seems more belligerent than a drunk if that is possible.

Connington charges at Jon like a bear and is lucky enough to catch him. Jon feels the air in his lungs leave him as he hits the ground and they aren't able to refill as Connington’s body crushes him.

Jon struggles in the sand, but this close he can see tears streaming out of Connington’s crazed eyes and it turns out the black– _whatever_ – leaking out of his mouth into his beard is a dark blue color.

“Should be Aegon.” The old griff spits and then cries, his voice echoing off of the unseen black cliffs. “Aegon on the throne!”

Panic sets in and with no oxygen Jon’s cries are dry and barely heard. Ruddy cold hands grab his throat and Jon can feel hot tears leak from his eyes. He can burrow himself deeper into the sand but he cannot wriggle an escape.

“ _OFF_!” Arya howls and Jon can hear the relentless thuds of her hitting Connington on the back of his skull. Eventually Jon sees two pink little thumbs appear around Connington’s head and press deep into the socket of his eyes.

There's one last tightening around Jon’s throat before the mad man gets up with a loud growl of pain.

The pressure leaves Jon completely, he takes in hulking gulps of air and skitters in the sand trying to get up, but his muscles refuse to work.

Eyes flickering every which way until he sees Arya, Jon takes a breath seeing that her wolf is gnawing at Connington’s leg. “Arya!” Jon calls and it works, she moves back toward him and away from red angry griff.

Her nose scrunches and takes the corner of her tunic. “He spewed that black stuff all over.” She frowns wiping her face and shuddering.

Jon grabs her and is able to get to his feet now, shakily he looks over her to see his ghost come and bring Connington to the ground with a swift hit to the head. “Arthur.” Jon breaths and he sees Dany behind him with her hand clapped to her mouth in horror.

Ser Arthur puts on a tight lipped frown as he stares down at Connington, who’s unconscious body is now being restrained by Ser Oswell.

Jon can't understand why that happened. Insecurity has him in a tighter grip than Connington did and his skin begins to itch when he feels all eyes leach onto him.

Swiftly, Arthur approaches and tilts Jon’s head back so he can inspect the burning skin of his neck. “You're alright?” He asks in a tone much gentler than the harsh edges of his face would imply.

Jon nods, not really wanting to talk… or be seen. If the ocean rose and swallowed him whole, he'd be fine with that so long as he wouldn't have to bear all these questioning eyes.

_Everyone heard_. From how loud Jon Connington roared people from the wall all the way to Oldtown heard that Aegon should be the one. It's no matter, it is what everyone thinks anyway.

Without a word Jon peels himself away from the scene, his head down he doesn't need to look back to see that Arthur is following close behind. All Jon focuses on is making it to the stone steps of the castle. Feeling his heart beating his insides to a pulp, instead of marching up the thousands of steps to Dragonstone, he sits on the bottom step with his head between his knees.

He just wants to be able to breath.

But he feels he’s just going to be sick.

“I can take you up to the maester.”

“ _No_ , I’ll be fine.” Jon urges, not willing to take more humiliation by being carried.

A slight hand roams up his back and normally that would soothe him, now it only makes him flinch and he lifts his head up to see Daenerys has caught up. All his wounds open, Jon lashes, “I can't write you, _really_?”

He whips the words out so venomously Dany retreats a step to give Jon space. Her face drops open, stunned. “I- we don't have to talk about that, I want to make sure you're alright.”

“I'm breathing.” It's more of a snappy non answer than anything and Dany self consciously wipes the lingering wetness from her cheek.

“Give him space.” Arthur mentions softly and a short, silent moment passes before Dany listens. Her feet pad softly by as she ascends up the castle steps.

Self hate had never burned in his chest quite like it does now. _Why_ did he do that? Why so close to when she leaves!

“I can send Ser Oswell for the maester to come to you.” Arthur looks increasingly worried for his king but Jon denies him again.

“I just need to catch my breath.” He grits holding his side. Out of nowhere Ghost emerges from the foggy beach, his steps are lopsided as he trots to Jon with blood on his muzzle.

“What have you been doing?” Jon strokes a hand over his back, he's not soft like a puppy would be but rather his fur is coarse and water resistant. “You missed a lot.”

But what matters is he’s not missing now. The toil Jon had felt in his stomach subsides and he is no longer panting and wheezing like some sickly, weak boy. Ghost rests his chin on Jon’s knee like he is bored and wants to go back inside.

“Arthur, wasn't I supposed to be able to trust Jon Connington? My father surely trusted him.”

Shifting his weight to his other leg, Arthur sighs. “Jon had a certain image of Rhaegar in his head… your father knew about this and ignored my urges to set Connington straight.”

“He liked to use him, didn't he?” That was Rhaegar’s way, he never saw people as people, but as pawns. Jon thinks Rhaegar didn't even see himself as human.

Features on Arthur’s face grow dark. “And Jon Connington liked to be used. It was not healthy then and has continued to grow into a bigger problem. Jon is not an evil man, just a disturbed one who has threatened his king.”

“I don't want him killed.” Jon says quickly as he gets to his feet. “Lock him up in his chambers and have Ser Jaime keep watch, I'd like to speak with him later.”

“I assume you will be searching for a Hand of your own.”

“Of course, I planned to do that all along but I had thought Jon would do until I found someone suited enough… it seems I have less time than I thought.”

“My father,”

Beside Arthur, only the gods would know when exactly she got there, is Arya Stark and her faithful wolf sporting a similar red muzzle. “My father can fill the position for as long as you need him to.” Her sterling eyes glisten with an odd sense of hope. “You could even stay with us in Winterfell while you sort your council. You need people you can trust don't you? There's no place better than the north.”

Arthur throws a pointed look to Jon but he ignores it as he takes what Arya is saying. “I couldn't trouble Lord Eddard in that way.” He'd also be subjecting his warden of the north to a certain danger. Not to mention Robb Stark, the loathsome sod, wouldn't be prepared to take over his father’s responsibilities.

“If you have no one else it can't hurt to ask. We’re here for you, as a family.”

_Family_? What would remain of Jon’s family in King’s Landing as of now? Ser Arthur and Viserys? The prospect of presenting the title of Hand to Viserys is a nauseating one. What is left is Jon’s mother’s side of the family. The Starks, an ancient and noble house.

That inkling of hope spotted in Arya now takes hold of Jon, perhaps it isn't too late to embrace the Starks. He already feels better with Arya by his side, there is not a faulty bone in her body. Jon likes that sort of loyalty, and unlike his father he won't use it, he’ll treasure and return it.

Jon’s heart lightens. “I'll think about it, Arya.” And she smiles back at him.

 

 

In his mind he’s gone through every possibly way that he could ask his Uncle Eddard. Making Ned Hand would be the most comfortable decision Jon has made so far as acting ruler, but asking him to do it is certainly an obstacle.

Jon paces the cavernous hall of Dragonstone’s throne room while Ghost, Grey Wind, and Nymeria chase each other tirelessly.

He has to ask before the day is through, he can't prop this up just as Lord Eddard is walking up the ramp to sail back north. To help organize his thoughts, Jon takes a walk to the dining hall where dinner is being served. The mumbling of the crowd is a welcome distraction that Jon focuses on. Thankfully no one is whispering as he goes by, the events of the day won't turn him fragile, not when he is supposed to be strong.

Robb sits coolly with watchful eyes at a table with other Northmen, the tips of his ears burning red as they disappear into curls of his auburn hair.

“Hey, you changed.”

Jon looks down at himself, he changed from his black tunic and trousers to his other black tunic and trousers. “You did too.” He nods to Arya’s proper black mourning gown. Her hair is still untidy, but did it really matter if her hair was never tidy to begin with.

Arya pathetically holds up the limp fabric of her skirts. “I can't move as well, but it is fun to dance in. When I was really young me and my sister would spin like tops just to watch our skirts fly up. We don't do that anymore, Sansa is too good for it. She knows proper steps and is graceful and all that.”

The mention of dance brings music into the air that Jon hadn't heard before. A subtle strum of harp strings accompanied by a solemn lull of a singer, a song Jon has yet to hear. Perhaps it is a song of his father.

Jon holds out his hand, unsure at first. “Did you want to dance?”

She does not give an answer out right. There is a pregnant pause as she looks at the lonely singer. “It's a slow song. I don't know how to move slow.”

That doesn't surprise Jon in the least. “I can lead you if you'd like to try.”

Hand greeted with the clasp of Arya’s, Jon begins with an easy to follow sway of steps with the music. Consumed with making it easy for her, he’s happy his efforts are counted for when she smiles having a good time with it rather than stressing if she is doing it well or not.

Little by little the floor begins to clutter with more pairs of feet and the lonely singer is joined by two others that make the music easier to hear. For the first time the glum castle of Dragonstone doesn't seem so dreadful.

A faster paced song has Arya taken and now she is the one leading him in her strange, rhythmic movements and he laughs for the pair of them must look ridiculous. Jon doesn't usually stray from the steps he knows, but now he doesn't find it so bad with the ringing of Arya’s laughter as she twirls around.

The song ends and thoroughly inspired, Jon leans down to kiss Arya’s cheek in a rush and completely misses the look on her face as he leaves down the corridor. He’s in a hurry to find her father to ask something of him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reborn from the ashes.

It has only been a fortnight on the road and Winterfell is just a few hours ride away, but in her lonely carriage Dany feels time slow.

Every bump, every creak of the wheels, every stomp of the horses’ hooves, and every bloody wolf howl grates against Dany in the worst of ways. The cold has seeped itself further than skin deep. Not only are her fingers brittle and numb, but her chest as well, making it awfully hard to breathe. The air is thin and potent of pine and smoke which makes her runny nose sneeze.

What seems like years ago, when they arrived in White Harbor, the Manderly’s had gifted Dany with a trunk full of a proper northern wardrobe. She is eternally grateful for that gift when even now in the thick sable furs, she shivers. In her heaviest cloaks from King’s Landing she'd be dead stiff in her litter, Robb would've enjoyed that.

He has snubbed her the whole journey, ignoring her existence in total. The only time she reckons that he did acknowledge her was when he introduced her to the welcoming Manderly’s. A kind family they were and Robb was almost short with them, so Dany took care to be as polite as possible for his lack of grace.

Dany thinks he would've been tolerable if it was just her he was angry with, but now she is merely a singular problem among many. His father and sister are staying with Jon back in King’s Landing as he serves as Hand of the King.

Seeing Robb so cross was quite a sight. Before they left he had ruined a perfectly good sword by hacking a tree with it which was barbaric, especially since there were not many trees taking root on Dragonstone and he surely killed that one.

Sliding the window of her litter open, Dany is not surprised to see Robb way up at the front with another boiled leather clad Northman. Aegon has kept his horse the same pace as the litter so thankfully Dany can easily flag him over with a quick wave of her hand.

As he lines his mount up closer to the litter Dany bundles her furs around tighter to fend what she can of the fresh chill rolling through the window.

“Do you need to stop?”

“Can you ready me a horse?”

Life breathes back into Aegon's frozen face as looks at Dany with shock. “We are almost to Winterfell and now you want out to ride?”

The cold has frozen his poor brain. “It wouldn't look good if a foreign bride got out of her foreign carriage just to take a look at the inside of Winterfell. I should go in riding beside my northern husband, shouldn't I? That way I can see the battlements from afar and such…” Daenerys’ voice is beginning to sound hoarse, the dry cold air is already taking a toll on her throat.

Instead of noting her astute observations, Aegon merely sighs and nods, and it is much more awful than Dany could've imagined such a simple task to be.

The whole party must stop for her to make her transition. Stepping out of the litter, Dany doesn't need to look around to know all eyes are on her, she can feel them just fine…

Aegon helps her mount a spirited white mare and Dany ignores the cold so she can hop up as quickly as possible and end this misery. Her gown is thick and burly, but it is just that, a gown. Riding side saddle is never comfortable, never mind doing it in the freezing cold.

Dany closes her eyes in relief as the line starts moving again. More than anything Dany wants to continue silently by Aegon’s side, but that is not the reason she is out of the comfort of the litter. It's almost painful as she urges her horse ahead until she is side by side with Robb’s cold shoulder. He doesn't even look at her but he appears _massive_ with a wolf pelt cloak on around his shoulders.

Before Dany can give herself an internalized pep talk she feels a burning on her finger and hurries to slip her glove off to see that it's her ring. Her _mother’s_ ring, the precious metal had frozen colder than ice and burnt her skin. Brittle, creaky fingers try to slide it off, but she is clumsy and exhales a cloud into the air as she feels her ring pop from between her fingers onto the ground.

Without a second thought she slides off the side of her hose and kneels into the snow, one hand gloved and the other bare as she frantically skims through powdery snow. It would be easier if she could properly feel… Numb hands are useless hands.

Shadow encases her from behind. “What is it?” A rough northern drawl questions and as Dany slowly turns to see Robb off of his horse staring at her while the line moves past them.

“I…” her gaze returns to the snow she was sifting through. “I dropped something.”

“No, you're wasting time.” A firm yank on her cloak brings her back up on her feet as she's nearly dragged back to her horse. “I told Jory to keep the party moving, you're not slowing us down anymore.”

Daenerys struggles but to no avail, Robb is stronger than her, but he only has her cloak. Carefully, she wriggles out and springs back to the spot where she had disturbed the snow.

That ring is all she has of her mother, she may have no memory of her but she has that ring! _She's always had that ring_.

She will find it. She will not leave without it.

“Daenerys,” she can feel Robb’s gloved hands grab her shoulders.

“It's here, just let me look!”

“What?” He bites impatiently.

“My ring.”

“Jewelry? You're going mad over a bit of jewelry? Don't you have chest fulls of it.”

_Not anymore_ she thinks bitterly, besides, this ring has never been _just jewelry_. “It's my ring I'm going to find it.”

“No, Winterfell, we are going to _find_ Winterfell.” He mocks and starts to pull her up again.

She will spit in his eye if she has to. “Robb, I will find it faster if you leave me.” She warns as her body tenses, clinging to the ground.

An extensive sigh rolls over him as if she has asked him to sacrifice life and limb. “This it?” He says walking past her to where Grey Wind had his nose in the snow. He picks it up and shows it to her and Dany’s heart leaps to her throat.

“Yes–” she is losing her voice and sounds like a breathy, screechy animal but she doesn't care. Scrambling up she moves to take her ring and restores it in its rightful place on her finger. She will withstand its burning. She cannot lose it again.

Robb circles around and places her cloak back around her shoulders. “Try to warm up, your lips are blue and my mother– well– she's a mother and will have my head if she sees you like this.”

Quickly, he turns to return to his own brown destrier when Dany realizes she'll have to mount her horse as well.

“Robb,” he takes a painful pause, “I need help.”

Slow as ever, he turns back to her unimpressed. “You can’t jump up on your own?”

Not with how numb she feels and her half a dozen layers restricting her movement. Dany shakes her head and Robb gives her a look like he would dare to just leave her.

As if some unseen ghost is compelling him, he moves to Dany’s aid. “I should have kept you locked in that litter.” He mutters and lifts her onto her horse’s saddle. “I meant what I said, warm yourself up or my mother will hover over you for weeks to check if the cold had any lasting damage on you.”

“Too late for all that. I can already feel myself grow weak with sickness, my voice is fading, my body numb.” Daenerys tries to make it sound as terrible as possible and smiles when Robb scowls at her.

“Don't play your little games with my mother.”

“I'm not, I'm playing with you.” Lady Stark will be none too pleased to find that her eldest has taken little care of his new wife.

“You're not funny, you're not clever, you're only pathetic.”

Robb strides back to his horse and Dany calls out, “thank you, you know, for finding my ring.” He says nothing, not even sparing a glance, but Dany can see his ears redden and it is not from the cold.

 

Finally, in the distance settled in snow and the crisp air is Winterfell. Before it, there is a bustling village that emits smoke and the smell of food, but the castle beyond the quaint town dwarfs it. Stone walls as high as the clouds, it is near impossible to see what the layout of the castle is.

As they get closer Dany can see the age on the stone, this place had been here for centuries and it will endure for centuries more.

Dany keeps close to Robb and she had tried to do as he said and warm herself up but it is hard to remember what warm had felt like. She isn't shivering anymore, so that must be a good sign.

On command the gates open when they approach and Dany straightens while pulling her hair over her shoulders so she may look as best as she can manage, but it may have just been a futile act. She has no clue how mussed her hair has gotten, and her curls have fallen into relaxed waves.

First impressions are important and Daenerys hopes she will not disappoint.

A humbling crowd is gathered in the courtyard and Dany can see the Starks she has yet to meet all lined up in the front. A woman with her hands tucked into her bell sleeves is misty eyed and hardly contains her smile when she sees Robb. His mother is rather darling, Dany doesn't think she has seen someone so full of unbridled joy.

Beside her is a girl with the same vibrant hair, more red than Robb’s the color brightens her whole face. She is nothing like Dany had expected. She is pretty and groomed, her hair in a half updo just like her mother’s. There is a small boy and then quite a large man. The largest Dany has ever seen and he's holding a boy much too old to be carried.

Alas there is one more person that sticks out from the crowd, he looks older than Robb which means he cannot be a brother, and he is actively staring at Dany as she tries to ride as close to Robb as possible so that they may at least look like husband and wife.

Robb does not waste a moment to jump to the ground, all but running to his mother and taking her into a hug first, then to the boy being carried by that northern… _giant-- its impossible, giants don't exist,_ but the size of this man would challenge any skeptic.

Dany hopes the crowd believes that Robb had forgotten her out of excitement for his family, but still they stare as Aegon comes and helps her down to the ground. They could be staring at their strange silver hair or whispering about their Targaryen mad, violet eyes. Either way, Aegon does a better job at ignoring them.

“You’re alright?” He whispers and Dany nods, practicing her smile.

She is tired, tired from the road and tired of people. Solitude in a hot bath sounds a make believe dream at this point. Too good to be true.

Surprisingly Robb hasn't totally forgotten her, they make eye contact and Dany can't place the look on his face. Perhaps this is what Robb Stark looks like when he’s nervous, but she cannot be certain.

He takes her to his mother first and both ladies acknowledge each other with a respectful bow. “Mother, this is Daenerys.” He says neutrally and Lady Stark cups Dany’s hand between her own.

“You're frozen, child. No doubt tired as well. I've had a bath drawn for you and soup brewing in the kitchens.”

It was a true kindness and it melts Dany’s heart. “Thank you, Lady Stark.”

Quickly and uniformly, Dany met Sansa, Rickon, Hodor and Bran, the Winterfell Maester, the Winterfell ward, and the Winterfell master at arms.

With the promise of a bath everything between that seems a blur. She met some other northern folks and made sure to be all smiles until finally she was being escorted to her chambers.

She could almost feel her fingers again when she saw the steaming tub waiting for her in the center of the room, only her blood ran cold when she saw there were _two_ of them.

Jory Cassel, their escort, awkwardly bids his farewell. 

Mouth ajar Dany looks back to Robb who has the same apprehension on his face. “You go and– I’ll leave you to– I'm going to speak to my mother that we won't be sharing bedchambers.”

Shooting out from her cloak, Dany’s hand comes to rest on Robb’s arm before he can turn to leave. “You can't tell her that, aren't we supposed to be happy?” Isn't that why she's kept an insufferable smile pinned on her face.

“We were wed as near strangers, remember? I don't think it'll be unusual if we sleep in separate chambers– and we _need_ separate chambers for my sanity.”

“We’ve been married for some time, we aren't strangers anymore.”

“Then we say we realized we are not suited after all, it wouldn't be lying and it wouldn't give too much away.”

Dany worries her bottom lip in thought. She is the foreigner here and the farther Robb is from her the less chance she'll find a place of her own. “I'll let you have first bath if you share the room with me.”

For self preservation she'd even offer to sleep on the floor, but waits to see if he'd take this offer first.

Robb slumps into a look that really makes him appear tired. Eyes half lidded and drowsy he sighs. “You take the first bath, you’re going to need the hot water more than me.” Dany nearly interrupts to dig a definitive answer from him, but he gives it just before leaving, “I'll make myself busy getting our things then.”

  
Transition is hard.

Even a simple task like getting ready for dinner Dany sits on edge as Sansa places her hair into a simple style that feels like nothing. She suspects the young girl is taking so long so she could ask more questions about the capital and Dany’s wedding. She confided how jealous she was of Arya for being able to go when Sansa should have been the obvious choice.

Dinner was not much easier to sit through. Next to Robb, Dany keeps relatively quiet unless spoken to. It was safest to keep to her wine cup. If she was constantly drinking or chewing, Robb’s family tended not to pester her with questions.

Robb spoke of sailing and the journey from White Harbor, informing his mother of each of the Manderlys and how well they are doing.

Just as Dany finishes the last draining sip of her cup, she reaches for the pitcher when Sansa mentions something.

“Should I have a water pitcher sent to the table?”

Dany blinks her surprise. She is not at all drunk, why would she say that. “No thank you, Sansa.” Dany says kindly and pours her cup.

“It's just Septa has always preached to me that married young girls should only drink milk and water since it could take weeks for a pregnancy to be known.”

_Pregnancy_.

The word crashed over the table despite Sansa being sweet and gentle with her tone, Lady Stark had even trailed off her conversation upon hearing the word.

Lacking context, Lady Stark leans in over the table with interest. “You're with child?” She direct to Dany.

Immediately Robb shifts in his seat, uncomfortable, his cheeks flaming from humiliation or anger.

“I- I don't think so, my lady.”

“We must prepare ourselves for the possibility then, it's bound to happen soon if it hasn't already.”

Dany swallows thickly and Robb is bending over his plate like he's going to be sick until he noisily scoots his chair back and leaves.

Dany gives everyone an apologetic look before chasing after him into a dark corridor just outside of the noisy kitchens.

“Robb–”

“Are you?” He asks with distress clear on his face.

“I don’t know! Maybe? I doubt it though. I don't feel different.”

Robb pales looking down at her. “Jon?” It's so quiet Dany could hardly hear it over banging of pans in the kitchens.

“No,” she says right away but it is possible. With Jon she had taken moon tea the seldom times she needed to, but since Robb she did not think to take it. Her tears betray her answer and she can see patience leave Robb’s eyes.

“Will I even know if it’s my son?”

“Oh Robb stop it! I'm not pregnant– I'm just not so stop thinking that.” She says in a harsh whisper. Her moonblood often comes late, ever since she was thirteen it always comes every other month.

“You just told me you didn't know.”

“Well, woman’s intuition just hit me, I'm definitely not.”

Robb is not so thick as to take her sarcasm seriously. “I'm sick.” He says, his hand shaking as it flattens over his chest to feel his pounding heart. He curses under his breath, “how many times have you been with him– even before I came to the capital.”

Dany shakes her head, “I don't know… eight? Eight times.”

“And all those times you've never gotten pregnant? Is your–” he gestures wildly at her middle, “is there something wrong with your– _womb_?”

Now it is Dany’s turn to take an evening breath. “No, nothing you need to worry yourself about.” She snaps.

Instead of growing irritable, perhaps she should be more concerned for Robb, he keeps turning red and then white. “Do you need… something?”

“A new wife.”

“I mean something I can give to you without dying.”

“I don't know how you're so unbothered. I can never stop thinking about it– about _you_ and it's frustrating.”

“I meant it when I'd said it the first time, but I'll say it again. I'm sorry. I don't feel good about what I did, but it happened and we have to move on, even if we are miserable, we have to move on.”

“What were you thinking? With everything that happened that night when we docked and you found out your brother died, how could you two even think to do _that_.”

Daenerys does not like thinking of Jon while she is so far away from him. It hurts. At the time she didn't think what they did was so wrong. She loved Jon and not Robb.

It certainly didn't feel wrong, not until after when she could think properly. Dany did not feel like a princess then, she felt like a monster.

 

Huddled and frantically whispering at each other near the kitchens was the last time Robb spoke to her that night. Even now he is silent beside her in the dark… _in their bed_ , Grey Wind acts as a barrier between them and Dany shudders every time she feels his coarse fur or wet nose. She is not used to sleeping with a dog-- a wolf rather, and she is not used to the eerie sounds of this castle.

Ancient and made of stone, the walls feel alive as they hiss and creak, the sound of crows outside are none too comforting either.

The first evening in Winterfell has not been pleasant (to say the least) but that doesn't have to be her forever. Rolling out of bed, because she doubts Robb cares what she does his back is turned toward her and he practically wore his clothes to bed. Dany opted for the heaviest slip she owned and kept her robe on, not that she needed it for warmth, the castle isn't drafty and with a fire it is quite toasty.

Robb doesn't care that she has left the bed, but in the dark she can see a shadow perk up and reveal two yellow eyes. Grey Wind is curious and watches her kneel at the chest beside the bed. Dany opens the lock and sighs a breath of relief seeing her dragon egg nestled safely in the sand.

In the dark, the charcoal egg looks as if it is settled on a pile of ash. _Born from the ashes._

The next morning Dany wakes early and breaks fast with Sansa. She inquires about certain northern ladies and even some Riverland girls that Sansa knows of. After hours, Dany has compiled a list of girls she plans to make her ladies in waiting which will set the mood for her budding northern court. Sansa was in nonstop giggles at the whole idea.

Dany won't be sitting around useless and crying her whole life, not if she can help it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the story kind of splits here with the group in the north and the group in the south. Next chapter is a much needed Arya pov, pray I don't mess it up.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new beginning emerges for Arya as she enters her fourteenth year of life.

A girl fresh of becoming four and ten and blooming into a tender flower.

Blooming, blooming, blooming, everyone around Arya used the same _blooming_ word on her nameday like she is some pretty garden rose. Robb would have laughed, father only let amusement be shown through his eyes as he watched over excited, prissy, capital people fawn over such an occasion.

_Four and ten. Wow. It's not everyday a lady turns four and ten._ Arya rolls her eyes thinking back to it. “Blooming.” She spits the word out to the empty gardens she walks, no one to hear except Nymeria who is busy prodding a petrified frog in the eye with her nose.

Nymeria is so big now, twice the size of a normal hound and still growing everyday. Father said she won't stop until she is grown into her paws, if that's true she has a long way to go and that excites Arya.

Ghost is even bigger. Once the runt, but since being given to Jon he’s prospered into a proper beast. Grey Wind was the biggest of the litter and Arya wonders how big he is now; if Ghost has matched him or not.

Arya throws a pebble at the frog, Nymeria scares the little thing so much he refuses to move or make a sound.

Four and ten and she's playing with frogs. _Not blooming._

Four and ten and she still feels nine. When Sansa turned four and ten she could do her own hair, come up with her own outfits without being told she looks like a boy, and most importantly she could sew an impeccable stitch. Sansa makes her own nameday dress every year, Arya had the dress that was gifted to her in tatters when the day was through.

The word lady has always been pushed on Arya, even when she doesn't look or act like one. But what else would she be called? She has no way with swords despite her interest in them, she's not pretty, she's nothing.

She'd _like_ to be a knight.

Sansa had always called her a bog woman, probably the most accurate title. But now a noble lady at four and ten, should she try to be what her mother wants her to be? Wouldn't it be easier to give in and be a proper lady?

Arya retaliates her own thought by sticking her hands in the dirt, making a mud castle for the scared stiff frog. She’ll fortify it with strong walls so he can feel safe.

Nymeria’s head perks up at the screech of an incoming crow. King's landing is always full of doves and their gentle purrs, but when a crow comes it's screeching can only mean one thing.

Nymeria runs side by side with Arya back to the red keep. Her legs burn jumping up two stairs at a time up the tower of the Hand.

Arya wishes she had some tact before barging through the door unannounced, she comes in panting and covered in dirt and reddens when she sees her father is not the only one looking bewildered at her bold enterance.

Prince Viserys and Prince Oberyn Martell, two men in the fanciest clothes in all seven kingdoms accompany Ned Stark at the table. There are parchments scattered around and Jon is nowhere to be seen.

“Arya, what is it?” Ned speaks first, biting through Arya’s shock.

“The mail, I thought I heard it.”

“I haven't gotten it yet. If you suspect it's from home go to the rookery. The grand maester should have it.”

Arya nods and peeks another look at the princes as she turns to leave. Like day and night, Prince Oberyns leans back in his chair with ease while Viserys is stiff as a board, shrill-like and pouting. If any of the Targaryen's were mad, it'd be him.

Arya and Nymeria make their trek to the rookery and up even more steps, eager to see her letters. At the top of the tower there is no old maester, only hundreds of birds and one lonely king.

Again, Arya hadn't expected this sort of company. They may live within the same castle walls, but it has been days since she's caught a glimpse of the king.

Jon has been busy as of late. As he should be, he's father to the realm.

“Did you get any letters?” Arya tepidly asks while taking another step in the cramped tower, surprised to not see Ser Arthur Dayne on stand by. Only Ghost joins Jon, laying by his feet as Jon sits at a small creaky table covered in feathers and scrolls.

Wearily, Jon lifts his head from where it rest on his palm and shakes his head, his hair is messy like he'd just been sleeping. “no, but you do.” He says holding out a scroll. “It's rolled thick, there must be a lot in there.”

Arya greedily takes it and sits at the other end of the table. She breaks the wax seal, loving the audible snap it makes and when she unrolls it, the single parchment becomes 4 different leaves. “Whoa,” she mutters as she thumbs through the pages.

She had never gotten this many at once, and all but one addressed to her. Robb had written two letters, one for Arya and another, neater, note for father.

“My mother, Robb, and Sansa wrote me.” She says amazed. “Sansa..” Arya trails, looking at her pretty writing. ‘ _Dear_ _Arya_ ,’ that is all she dares to read for now and puts that letter at the bottom of her small stack. Saving it for last.

Arya looks up to Jon, he’s watching her curiously, “did you get all the letters you were hoping for?” He asks and then Arya sees he lied. He did get mail. There's an open scroll placed right before him. One with a black seal.

“Who is that from?”

Jon looks confused until he follows Arya’s eyes to the scroll. “Oh, Aegon.” He says like he's already forgotten. “He’s taken his vows already– I can go if you want some privacy.”

“No! I don't like reading them alone, there's no one to react with.” Usually Arya reads letters from home along with her father, but he's busy with princes at the moment.

“My mother says she's sewed me a dress for my nameday out of habit and that all of the stray cats miss me and look–” Arya turns the parchment over so Jon can see, “that’s Rickon’s chicken scratch at the bottom. He's learning to read and write.”

‘ _We miss you arrea_ ’ read the bottom corner of the page in a messy, uneven scrawl.

“He misspelled my name. I can forgive him, but my mother, who was no doubt over his shoulder while he was writing, is the one to blame. She would know better.”

Jon puts on a refreshing smile looking at the scribbles, “no, I think she knew you'd like it better this way. It's more authentic.” He points at a suspicious looking inkblot. “I think he scratched in a little picture, a cat?”

“No, a wolf.” Arya says, “Rickon has a black wolf, shaggy dog. Did I tell you Bran named his Summer?” A fortnight ago Arya got that letter. Bran was awake and he'd graced his wolf with a name finally.

Thinking of home, Arya returns to her second letter. Skimming through, she smiles reading the warm wishes Robb has sent her for her nameday. Even Theon and Bran scribbled in the margins to say hello.

“I wish I could see them.” Arya wistfully sighs. “I can picture them saying all of these things, but it's not the same.”

Arya blinks at her parchment once more, finding a neater hand amongst her brother’s and Theon’s writing. A master with a quill, this writing is even more beautiful than Sansa’s. The princess Daenerys had written in a small greeting. “She is kind,” Arya whispers out while reading the message. “And not once did she label me a blooming lady.”

_Arya_ , the princess had only called her by her name and fills Arya with a surprising warmth. And no sooner could the guilt of ignoring Daenerys seep in. Arya regrets not taking a greater interest in Robb's bride.

So Jon wouldn't feel left out, she hands him the scroll to read.

Biting her lip, Arya eagerly holds open the scroll Robb had meant for their father and reads it as fast as her eyes can move. Paranoid that at any moment someone would catch her, she breaks into a series of nervous babbles.

“And Robb has said nothing of what it's like to be acting Lord of Winterfell, how could he do that to me! I doubt he's doing a bad job, but I want to know if he’s made any changes or if he's had to behead someone or if he hosts loads of feasts now.”

Arya chuckles to herself, “I bet he's ordering everyone within Winterfell’s walls to play him in cyvasse, his favorite game that no one likes.”

Arya thought her joke to be funny, but Jon stiffly nods at her self created amusement, his hands clutching over the letter she gave him.

Worried she might've offended him, she asks, “Do you like cyvasse?”

“No, it’s dull and tedious. Perhaps if Robb showed the same interest in training as he does in games he'd be able to beat me.”

Arya’s smile dies on her lips hearing anger, _real anger,_ in Jon’s voice. “He does train.” She says too defensively to be kind.

“Then he is inept. Unteachable.”

Arya flusters rolling up her letters in hand and gets up, “Robb hasn't done you any wrong, no wonder he never liked you.”

Jon looks incredulously up at her, mouth ajar and brows pinched like his princely vocabulary had suddenly disappeared from his brain. “Hasn't done me wrong?” He repeats unable to believe the words.

Arya openly scowls, so angry she must resist tearing her letters. Both Jon and Robb were battle-born babies, their father's fighting on opposing sides. Perhaps that resentment still flows through their blood.

Arya shakes her father’s parchment into Jon’s hands, “Robb is protecting Winterfell and the north for you, look!” She points and Jon reads vigorously down the page, his face turning more and more bitter.

“Wildlings invaded and he fought them back to protect your realm.” Arya says with no shortage of pride. “And he's keeping up with the boring book keeping.” There were small charts graphed out so Robb could show their Lord father all of the current expenses and what is built up in the food stores.

Arya is proud, but Jon acts as if he's reading a different letter. His eyes linger on a particular line before he shoves the parchment back with a look that is eerily similar to Viserys’ pouting.

It sickens Arya to see the resemblance for the first time. To see the same beady glare in grey eyes she once recognized so well.

“Go on and say what has you so bothered!” She lashes so sharp some birds flee with a gust of feathers trailing them. Arya is unable to see what could have him so aggrieved, from what she's read Robb is doing exceedingly well. She's even happy for her brother.

Jon sours more seeing Arya turn against him. “Nothing has me bothered, I'm fine.”

Arya would explode in laughter if she wasn't so enraged. “Worst liar ever.” She labels and earns a mean glare.

“You're annoying, has anyone ever told you that?”

“I never blamed an innocent for my problems.”

Jon's face twists with disgust, “you're saying Robb is an innocent? He's treating Daenerys like some broodmare!”

Arya had just called him a bad liar, but the way he sounds it seems he truly believes that. “Impossible, what would give you that idea?”

“Look.” He points to the parchment and Arya reads it again, this time more carefully.

There was a line or two written in about Princess Daenerys, but nothing that insinuates that she's being mistreated or used. The letter only states that she is not yet with child and that she has been very involved with her acclimation to the north.

“Jon,” Arya shakes her head while rereading, “it sounds like she is doing well.”

“Robb would want it to sound that way wouldn't he? If she truly was doing well she'd write me.”

“Robb is not like that, I will write and ask him about it and you’ll see. Daenerys will write you when she wants to.”

Now Jon stands, gaining height over Arya, “you won't write him.”

“You can't stop me.”

“I can.”

Arya angrily stands her ground. “Go ahead, _your grace_ , forbid me. I promise that won't stop me. Jon Connington nearly broke your windpipe and you still keep him around. If I defy you what would happen to me? A slap on the wrist?”

Arya feels a twinge of satisfaction in her chest seeing how she grates on the king’s final nerves. Jon’s jaw flexes and some fight enters his eyes instead of that shrill, bitter pout.

“Connington is kept under careful watch, I need him believe it or not.”

“I don't believe it, not one bit.” Connington should be sent to the wall for his actions, or worse. Not even Arya would forgive the things he's done or said as easily as Jon has.

“Then that's your problem, not mine.” Jon bites before trudging past Arya to leave the rookery.

She doesn't let him step down the first stair by grabbing his arm. “Robb hasn't done anything to you, he's helping you.” That's all Arya wants to get through Jon’s thick skull. She doesn't know where this hate comes from, but it needs to stop. They'd be stronger together, even with a million miles between them.

She expects to be brushed off, but he only pauses, gaze locked down the dark stairwell. “Arya, no offense, but you don't know what you're saying.”

Gentle and calm, Arya takes a breath and urges Jon to turn and face her. His eyes sympathetic on her, she doesn't like that. “Maybe you’re the one that doesn't know. Robb isn't doing anything to hurt you or your family, he is family, we all are.”

Jon looks beyond Arya, eyes glazing over like he's stopped listening so she shakes the sleeve of his jerkin. “Write him yourself!” She implores. “Please, it's the only way you'll see.”

No answer quells her plea as Jon nudges her away and descends from the rookery in silence.

 •••

In the small hall, not to be confused with the king’s Great Hall, Arya finally finds her father alone in peace. At least as close to peace as he can get. He's not quite the same without the Heart tree in Winterfell's godswood.

“A letter from Robb.” She is finally able to deliver and as she hands him the scroll Arya sees she's left with her mother’s and Sansa’s unread parchment. She had lost Robb’s…

Ned looks over the scroll like he's done with countless others. Tired eyes glazing over word by word until satisfied.

Arya sits beside her father and clears her throat, straightens her shoulders, and unrolls Sansa’s script. Carefully, Arya meets every word with trepidation until she sees it's not a hostile note. Shocked, now she savors each word like a bite from her favorite dessert.

‘ _Dear Arya,_

_Mother misses you dearly. I frightened myself the other day when I discovered I feel the same. I stitched the most ghastly thing for your nameday, a wolf but it has your eyes. Though I've spoiled the surprise, I think you'll like this one more than the blue rose I made for you last year. I'll never forget how you left it outside in the mud without a care._

_I'm sad to inform that Prince Aegon has left Winterfell for the wall. He is valiant and strong and will be missed._

Arya snickers reading that bit. Sansa loves boys, especially princely boys. Arya should've known she’d love Aegon-- she'd really love Jon.

' _Princess Daenerys is wonderful and I'm glad she is here to stay forever. My heart would not take letting another friend go. Even the short time she's been here I can see subtle changes. Some women wear the same styles she has brought up from the south. You would collapse at seeing some of her intricate hair styles, though you probably have seen them already._

(Arya sinks in her chair feeling ashamed. She had not paid Daenerys or her hair any mind all while Sansa welcomes her as a sister) 

_'I envy you and your travels. I wish to stay at the capital myself, but perhaps I'm meant to only fantasize. When Princess Daenerys does my hair and allows me to a necklace of her’s, it's odd, but I think of you. Lady misses Nymeria as much as I miss you._

_I will regret writing that when you come back._

_Send my best to father and the king. Our cousin, the king! A bit strange isn't it? Again, jealousy plagues me that you've seen him and I have not. I've asked Robb about him and he has little to say, Princess Daenerys as well. You're luckier than you know to be in King’s Landing._

_Wishing you an adventurous nameday (The only kind you're bound to have no matter where you are)._

_Your sister, Sansa.'_

  
None of the other letters has made Arya as homesick as this one has. All the times Sansa called her lucky Arya wanted to scream _no!_

Sansa is the fortunate one, she's at home safe with the wolves and Arya is in a pit of vipers.

Any one of these southern snakes can snap and it wore on Ned Stark’s face. Broodsome and tired he always looks and it makes Arya sad. She knows he aches for home. _Her fault_ , this is all her fault for bringing up the idea to stay in King’s Landing.

But leaving Jon behind would be wrong-- no matter how annoying he gets.

Arya sighs longingly at Sansa’s letter. There are never any easy choices.

A putrid hum of the Rains of Castamere enters the Small Hall and Arya is not surprised to see a smug Jaime Lannister saunter in.

Arya tries to ignore his Ser title, Robb had never acknowledged him as a knight, nor had their father. He is a disgraced kingsguard who was pardoned only because of his family name and the amount of coin in his father’s purse.

Ned ignores the taunting rendition of that ugly lament, but Arya begins her own tune. Brave Danny Flint, it’s a song Sansa once sang while rocking Rickon to sleep. It was far from one of her favorites, but Arya has always been fond of it.

Jaime Lannister takes pause and looks degradingly at Arya, his eyes pull into acid green slits, much like the snake he is.

Arya stresses a closed mouth smile and continues humming until the disgraced knight flickers his gaze toward Ned, then leaves.

“You can stop,” her father says once the room is clear.

“Why did he do that?”

“To scare us off I imagine, but I've never been one to quake over a little song.”

Arya half smiles, “Send him back with his father to Casterly Rock. They don't do anything here.”

Ned sighs, putting Robb’s letter to the side in favor for another. Arya wonders if he's as proud of Robb as she is. “I cannot do that, at least it's not in my best interest to do so outright.”

Arya nods in understanding, these southern lords are fickle and will take offense to anything. “Why is Prince Oberyn Martell here?”

Arya grimaces seeing her father’s face turn hard as stone. “In times of transition it's normal for certain high ranks to make their prowess known. Prince Oberyn is no threat, he only wants to speak on Dorne’s behalf during all of this…”

Arya isn't sure if more is meant to be said, but her father keeps quiet and she does not press the issue… she'd already infringed his privacy by reading his letter… and allowing Jon read it too…

Guilt keeps her quiet until her father proposes an idea. “Maybe you should go find the King, lest Jaime Lannister gets to him first.”

Arya gloomily melts back into her chair, Jon is irritable today. He could be irritable everyday for all she knows. “He's hard to talk to.”

Ned nods, “because he feels an outsider in his own castle. Those closest to him have left.”

“So he feels like us,” Arya glowers. “I miss home.” It's not until she says it aloud that she understands what her father means. Best for wolves to stick together, no matter how stubborn they may be. In this rats nest of a city there are only three wolves and they must look after eachother.

King’s Landing is their winter right now and they must endure _together_ … somehow…

Faithfully, Arya trods to Jon’s, the king’s, chambers. Ser Arthur is standing guard so he must be in there, alone, Arya hopes. Arthur does her the kindness of letting her knock for herself.

Frustration still rises in her when she says his name, but she keeps her voice as neutral as possible. “Jon, can I come in?”

No answer, so Arya imagines her own and tries the handle, the door nudges open.

He’s sitting on the trunk before his bed gliding a whetstone over a silvery blade. The Targaryen’s don't have a Valyrian sword, it must be some other family weapon passed down. Arya has never seen it before, but it looks grand with sparkling rubies on the over decorated hilt.

Slowly, Arya wanders in closer. Walking past his desk she can see the letter Robb wrote to her and it's folded in a way so only the pretty writing of the Princess could be seen.

Shamefully, Arya looks toward her cousin and feels his isolation for the first time. He ignores her, mouth held in firm line as his jaw works and grinds as hard as the whetstone in his hand.

“Could you teach me?”

He pauses, the scrap of his sword quieting. “Teach you what?”

“How to be good with the sword,” she eyes the impressive blade in his hands, “no one will teach me and I have no luck learning by myself.”

Jon carefully lays the sword over the furs on his bed and grabs another. “No one teaches you because you're a girl, how can anyone hit a girl?”

“Plenty of men hit girls, your next excuse?”

Steel clashes with steel as Jon scrutinizes Arya’s size, his gaze just as sharp as her’s. “You're too little. You won't be able to hold anything while keeping your stamina up. You're weak, like most girls.”

“I don't act like most girls, and you have an awful definition of weak!” Jon is an idiot! What a revelation. The world is ruled by a moron.

Lowering his hackles, Jon softens. “I didn't– …. your arms are weak, That’s all I meant…”

Arya musters the courage to be firm, Jon is not her king, not in this moment anyway. “ _Apologize_.” She commands.

One brow raises. “Why? Because you misunderstood me?”

Arya nearly snaps in half she cringes so hard. “Because you said something stupid! Come on, you know what you said was wrong.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “I apologize, not all women are weak in the general sense of the word.” He cites lifelessly.

“I need you to mean it.”

The room falls into silence that is broken only when Jon sighs. Arya won't leave it alone he's just now discovering. “I'm sorry, Arya. Really, I'm sorry for everything. I've been intolerable and you're right, I know I'm deliberately being that way.”

A personal apology is not what she was searching for but she'll take it. “You've been an ass, in all honesty.”

He laughs quietly, letting a hint of a smile crack through his bitter shell and it's something Arya can recognize. “Honesty, yeah. I can use a bit of that. And you could too. You know in a fight, if you really want to do this, you'll always have the disadvantage.”

A thrill spikes Arya. He didn't forget about her and her own desires. “But what I lack in brute strength I have in quick feet. I'm not unteachable.” Neither is Robb, but Arya decides to keep quiet and light that fire another day.

Jon mulls it over like it's some important decision he has to make. “Here,” he reaches back for a wobbly blade that’s blunted and looks like it's made of tin. A bit of scrap metal compared to the sword he was once sharpening.

Arya eagerly takes it, both hands gripping the hilt firmly. “I can hold this.”

“For a time, you’ll tire out fast, especially if you keep that iron grip. Loosen up a bit.”

Jon moves to her side, his hands feeling over her’s and Arya flexes her fingers before forcing them into a relaxed state.

Jon looks at her unsatisfied, “It's not going to work, you're out of balance with the sword and that's the smallest one i've got.”

“I’ll make it work!” Arya fights back undeterred. She has nothing else, nothing but this desire to defend herself. _To prove herself_. Nothing will rattle her resolve, not her size, her sex, or her sword, and Jon is the only one who has shown true interest in teaching her.

“Fine.” It's as if the gods have spoken, Arya can't escape her blooming grin and fights against herself to shower Jon in grateful praise. He doesn't need anything else to help with his growing ego.

“I'll have mornings free, and I mean it's going to be really early.”

“Do you think I'll have anything better to do? Name the place and I'll be up waiting for you.”

  
And everything found balance again. No longer would weeks pass before Arya could see Jon in a miserable lonely state. They would just rise a little earlier to meet and best of all Arya is learning.

The first day of training she thought he’d told her everything there is to know when in fact everyday after that has been just as packed with information. A new world had opened and Arya rushed to ransack all she could of it.

Waking up became the best thing, it meant she could throw on her trousers, grab her sword, and meet Jon down in the dustbowl of a fighting pit. It became a new home away from home.

Jon had been right of course, she's at a disadvantage on an even one to one fight, but never does she disheart. Each day she feel stronger, faster, less clumsy. Jon prides himself on his footwork, it's easy to see. Every move he makes is calculated and serves some beneficial purpose for him.

Arya wants to be that clean, that precise. She dreams of it, even.

Matching Jon, blow by blow, they'd dance along with the clangor of swords.

And that beautiful dream ends only to bring on a beautiful morning.

Dawn cracks open the sky in fantastic pastels, the birds chirp awake and summon all creatures back to life from their slumber. Nymeria is always Arya’s companion before Jon and Ghost arrive, but this morning it's different.

Arya feels she's been dusting her feet in the red sand for hours and the sun comes in to burn away fresh dew, she can even hear the city start to bustle.

_He's late. He's never once been late before._

Arya bites her lip, had she lost her time with him? Is he now busier than ever? He never said so if that’s the case.

Nymeria digs her nose in the sand, whining. “Don't snort it, that's not good for you.” Arya can't understand why her wolf does stupid little things all the time. She chases things she's not supposed to, she wonders where she shouldn't, and she never listens to commands-- _never_!

“Ghost does what he's told,” she mutters to deaf pointed ears, the wolf now too busy sneezing.

“Bored?”

Arya looks up from the mural she had created in the sand, a winding heart tree. The red of the sand reminds Arya of the red leaves.

“You're late, so late!” She shouts, but by now Jon knows she's not truly mad. In truth she's thankful he showed at all.

“Sorry, I came as soon as I could.” He smirks and struts closer with his arms behind his back. “You know how I missed your nameday?”

She already knows what it is but still when he brings a slim, perfect little blade forward Arya jumps at him. Hugging him so tight his ribs bend.

“Careful, I don't want to hurt you. It's real, no blunted edges.”

“I thought you'd forgotten me here.” Instead he's brought a gift, the best she'd ever received. Taking a step back, Arya slowly grips onto her newly forged blade. It feels better in hand already and she feels the woman she's meant to be. Sansa is flawless with her needle and now Arya finally has her own.

“Forget you? Impossible. I have a soft spot for you,” Jon nearly reddens, “like a bruise on my side.”

Gods know he's given her plenty. He's never been outright rough during a training session, but when sparring little hurts are hard to avoid. When bathing she'll often find memories peppering her body.

Little red marks on her arm from a failure to block, or the massive blue bruise on her thigh from falling hard into the ground, her hip taking most of the impact. Oddly enough, she likes them all. They'll heal, but she doesn't mind feeling the sensitive spots when she's sitting down with her studies or playing with Nymeria.

“Can I use it today?” She asks while performing some practice swings through the air. Jon looks a tad nervous as he watches.

“You won't poke me full of holes will you?”

Arya steps into a defense position, loving how easy it is to move with her new blade. Like it is of her own arm. “I promise I won't _try_ to.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who tosses comments or kudos my way, I'm grateful for all of them and they are definitely my motivator when inspiration is dry


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: wow these long chapters are annoying to go through, I should cut back
> 
> Me to me: make what should be two chapters into one...
> 
> -_____-

Grey Wind is uncontrollable, furiously snarling as he taunts Theon in a circle. Lost in his own anger Robb can't find it in his heart to feel sorry for the Greyjoy.

The girls in his chamber shriek and make a mad dash for their underthings and cloaks as they head for the door.

“Whores, Theon!” Usually so sure footed, now Theon stumbles pulling up his breeches. He and Robb both red in the face but for different reasons. “Whores inside Winterfell’s gates! You think my father would have allowed this? _No_ , if he were here you never would've tried a stunt like this!”

Betrayed by his own friend who swore allegiance, Grey Wind does not let up his scare tactics. Lunging and nipping at a scrambling squid.

“Robb, call him off!” Theon yelps swatting at Grey Wind’s muzzle with his tunic making matters worse.

Robb feigns a yawn. “Perhaps I'm too lazy, just as you were to make the trek to Winter Town. Honestly, a quick ride away and you're at a brothel, why did you invite those girls in?”

“I didn't think you'd mind!” Theon musters some anger into his scared pitched voice.

“This undermines my honor, and I hold nothing else higher.”

“Keep that high as honor horseshit to yourself–” Grey Wind grazes Theon’s leg with his teeth and he screams with fright that the wolf would sink his whole jaw in him.

“Gods Robb! I'm sorry, okay! _Bloodyfuckinghell_ , I didn't know you would have such an issue with a few girls.”

“My mother lives in this castle, my little sister, all proper ladies. Fuck you Theon. _You_ should've had an issue with bringing girls like that here, Sansa should be a sister you, you want to subject her to your filth?”

“No, but if you recall they were in my room and pure little Sansa never comes near this wing of Winterfell. I subjected myself to my own filth and I quite enjoyed it.”

Taking a breath, Robb can already feel the room cooling. Grey Wind had settled for a defensive stance at Robb’s side and Theon had relaxed enough to slip on his tunic. “No whores in Winterfell, you don't get any exceptions. Understand?” Robb states firmly and Theon nods with his arms crossing over his chest.

“Yes, my lord.” He says quietly, pupils thin and uncertain on Robb, like at any second he'd order him to be hanged by his feet or lashed through the streets. Robb feels cold seeing the way Theon regards him.

But he is Lord and he must be strict. For now, anyway. “Don't think I'll give you special treatment, Theon. I can't.” Robb says grimly before leaving his friend to better gather his bearings.

Breaking out into the Winterfell courtyard relief spreads through Robb as he watches the gates open to let out an unseemly group of girls out. That should be the end of that.

Up on the battlements Robb feels her stare before turning and witnessing it first hand. Violet eyes half lidded and full of venom. A dragon silently fumes while clutching the wooden railing.

Flurries of snowflakes stick and melt to Robb’s still heated cheeks as he marches up the battlements to meet with his wife. She’s accompanied by two other Riverrun redheads, only a small fraction of her grandiose group of ladies in waiting.

He's lost count, how many are there now? Twelve? Most are from Riverrun, to get on mother’s good side, some from the Westerlands, and there is even a warm saffron girl from Dorne who is frightfully far from home.

Usually these girls giggle at Robb’s mere presence, now they do Daenerys’ glaring for her as she turns her nose up, walking the opposite direction.

“Daenerys,” he begins only to have those little ladies block him from continuing on. He much preferred the giggling.

“Pardon me ladies.” He scoots by and catches up with Daenerys in time to grab her arm.

A cloud forms from her lips as she huffs a laugh. “I don't mind you having a girl or two, but parading strumpets around for all to see? Robb, what will your mother think nevermind when word gets out to your northern lords.”

“Those women are Theon’s doing, I've never slept with a whore before why would I now? I have my honor to uphold-- and yours too. You may not care for it, but it’s important to me.” _It's everything._

“I wish it wasn't.” Sincerity cracks through Daenerys’ veil of ice, pretty lips curving into a sad smile.

Small moments like this allows Robb to admire her. Snowflakes catch in her lashes, on her cheeks. White hair, purple eyes, pink lips, she’s a palette of winter and Robb is weak against it; all too easily gets lost in it.

“So, you don't have a mistress?”

“No, I have decency. I'm not like you.”

“Gods forbid.”

Her attitude is alive and burning, Robb is still waiting for Winterfell to freeze it away. “You have about fifty Jeyne Pooles and not a single one can remind you that Maester Luwin wants to speak with you?” Old and grey that man may be but he doesn't forget an appointment. Every council meeting he mentions that Princess Daenerys has shirked his requests yet again.

“Do not mistake my ladies for fools, they do their jobs rather well. I know about the appointments and have declined them all.”

Robb groans, “why? You have no problem sticking your nose into other things. Maester Luwin is a good man, he's helped raise me and my siblings, you can trust him.”

Daenerys nestles further into her fur trimmed cloak, much like how a bird rustles its feathers. “He means to inspect me for a pregnancy, and if I am found to not be in such a fragile condition, then he will inspect me further to understand _why_. To see if I'm barren, if my insides have been upturned, if I am a danger to myself and a possible baby and what not..."

Robb’s throat tightens, “oh.”

“I will see Maester Luwin when I see fit. I am the woman after all, I know my body better than any old man with a book.”

Robb stiffly nods. They lay together, in the truest sense of the word. She under mountains of furs while he rests above, so there is no chance of their touching mid sleep. At this rate she will never need Maester Luwin’s assistance and that will not fare well for too long.

_There is still time_ , Robb reasons with himself, he is not yet the true Lord of Winterfell. There is no need for an heir so fast. He technically still is the bloody heir.

“I'll inform Maester Luwin then.” He says gruffly, only making eye contact with the snow on the ground. “So he’ll stop bothering us both.”

“Is there anything you need help with? The accounts, letters to any lords, signing documents? I have always received high praise for my writing.”

“No,” Robb is sure he cuts her off short, “gather yourself a needle and sew by a warm fire. That would put me at ease.” Daenerys does not rest, she is always penning away at something by her desk or speaking with the household, controlling how things are run. She'd changed the castles tapers from tallow to beeswax, an unexpected expense that Robb found out about only when it was too late.

She said the purchase was justified because beeswax smells better, why should she care? The cold makes her nose all red and stuffy, she can't smell a thing!

She rapidly blinks, not taking too well to Robb’s comment. “I'm more useful doing other things. I don't mind doing a bit of work that isn't sewing. I can help you read and sort through the piles of letters you get everyday, or speak with Ser Rodrick about training boys in combat in case there is another wildlings breech.”

The breech is a sensitive subject. Robb rode up to Karhold, commanding the brave men at his back, and killed to keep the north secure. Wildlings, Robb swore he saw nothing behind those feral eyes until he got close and saw the light leave them. He was no savage, he was only a man.

It was Robb’s first taste of blood and he did not like it. It was not sport, it was not glorious, it was murder. It's different when you're fighting to survive rather than fighting to win. Completely different.

Robb looks to Daenerys, her eyes latching onto him pleading for something. “I know what you can do.” He says and she brightens, eagerly biting her lip. “Write your friends, those southern lords, and ask them to escort their prisoners north to take the black.” They need the men. Lord Commander Mormont had warned him that the Watch only manned castle Black and Eastwatch. It obviously isn't enough.

“Stun them with your pretty writing and words.”

Finally, he is able to humor her. Her smile broadens and it is a sweet sight with snowflakes kissing the apples of her cheeks. “I've already done that, Lord husband. Getting their prisoners should be no problem. I bet Aegon will be thrilled to have more thieves to fight alongside.”

She's quick to get busy and so is Robb. Most of his day is spent in solitude. Reading and signing documents that need his signature of approval. Arya had granted him a break by sending back a letter, she'd written nearly all about Jon and the joy was stripped from Robb as he read. Their cousin is a teacher apparently and means to train Arya in swordfighting.

Robb could only be cynical, Jon doesn't know what it's like to truly fight. Eye for an eye or limb for limb. It strikes fear into any man and cripples. Instinct (and Grey Wind) had been Robb’s savior at Karhold. His brain shut down from shock and only the primal need to survive fueled him.

If someone were to clip Jon’s pretty curls he'd never recover. He's sheltered in that red keep of his and the people around him are careful to trap him in that bubble.

Light wavers to shadow and smoke fills the air. Candle burned out.

Robb shuffles parchments into some sort of orderly stack so he can get to it in the morning and leaves his cramped solar for the sprawling night sky.

When the sun sets the northern cold bites sharper and the wind cuts deeper, the way Grey Wind prefers it. He gets wild at night. Running himself mad and aching to get out to the Wolfswood to hunt. Robb has never given into the whims of his wolf until tonight.

He'd never seen Grey Wind so wound up with pure excitement. Robb cracks the grand, thousand year old oak doors just enough for his shadow to slip through.

“Just come back.” Robb whispers, feeling like a fool for what he'd just done. No reason, he just did it and watched as Grey Wind bolted into darkness without hesitation.

He's loyal, but Robb knows he's meant to be wild. A beast of the north should be able to roam the north and Grey Wind’s been craving a taste of freedom lately.

Securing the gate shut, something whizzes and thuds right next to Robb’s ear. An arrow with white fletching feathers protrudes from the hardened oak. Robb pops it free and inspects it.

“You'd kill me over a few whores?”

“Have you seen Ros’ tits?”

Robb allows himself to laugh. Theon stands across the yard all lean and precise as he normally is. Approaching, Robb is glad to see Greyjoy is less weary of his presence. Unlike this morning.

Robb hands the arrow over, “I could never kill you,” Theon admits, his voice somber before a rueful smirk takes its rightful place on his face. “I just wanted to make you piss yourself, you know, return the favor from your wolf.”

“Didn't work.”

“I see that.”

“You think maybe I trust you too much?” Robb would never second guess theon’s loyalty, he could have a knife pressing into Robb’s throat and he'd still call Greyjoy’s bluff.

“Maybe.” Theon says while clipping down some feathered arrows to his liking. “Maybe I can't even trust myself. I didn't mean to undermine your lordship, if that counts for anything.”

Robb shakes his head, not really caring about the ordeal anymore. “Just don't do anything like that again. Daenerys didn't like how that looked, me coming out of the south wing behind a bunch of scattering girls. People talk and as things echo over the Seven kingdoms the tales grow crazier and crazier.”

Theon bites his lip while preparing to shoot his newly trimmed arrow. “Daenerys is all about looks isn't she.”

Robb shrugs. “They can be important.”

“Isn't that what your marriage is? _For looks_.”

Suddenly the air is ice and pierces Robb’s lungs on every inhale. “What do you mean?”

Theon shoots the target dead center. “I mean,” he drawls, “that you two don't get on. Don't look at me like I'm mad, it's obvious! She's beautiful, like no other girl I've seen and I haven't seen you touch her. Not once and I know you can get grabby, Stark. Every girl you could sneak a touch from without being too improper was practically your sport growing up.”

Heavily sighing, Robb takes his time to think about what he should divulge. Definitely nothing about Jon. “We’re private.”

Theon snorts as if the answer was comical.

On edge with a new jittery flow of energy, “you want to spar?” Robb proposes, his sword hand clenched tight and ready for a fight.

The bags under Theon’s eyes gave Robb little hope of a much needed duel.

“Tomorrow.” He says while retrieving his arrow and tossing it into his quiver. “I got little sleep last night and you've already beaten me to a pulp this morning. I'm done today.”

Robb bites in his cheek and accepts that answer along with the bitter taste of disappointment. Soon Theon leaves to retire and Robb is left alone with the sound of a sleeping castle.

Since Karhold Robb’s had many wandering nights, but never without Grey Wind. At a loss he decides to fall into bed and try to sleep, and when he creaks his chamber door open he is not surprised to see she is already there.

_Oh_.

She's already in bed, back facing toward Robb and laying above all her furs. Despite himself, he stops to stare.

Knees tucked, toes curled in, she is a lithe little ball of comfort. The hearth still burning strong enough to drench her skin in the ember’s glow.

And her shift is sheer.

He hates her. He hates her with all that he has. Never has she retired in such a state, above all furs and barely dressed. Gods, she sleeps in a completely covering robe-- not whatever _this_ is.

He ignores her after that revelation, that she’s done this on purpose- to what? To torture him? Robb tears his view of her away and splashes his face with cold water from the basin and slides off his boots.

To his annoyance when he's ready for bed she's still in plain view. Part of him wants to venture and play this game, but she is far better at it and when it comes down to it, he is weak. He’ll fall in her trap and never know how to get out.

Wide awake, lying on his back, he dares to look over. Eyes trailing down the smooth line of her back to the curve of her hip that has Robb contemplating the risks and how little he cares about them at this moment. 

Silver hair strewn in loose waves over her pillow, Robb wonders if she is awake or not. He turns on his side to face her, hand reaching to rest over that supple curve of her hip. She's warm and glowing, and starts to shift under his palm. Hips slowly wriggling back as if to find more of his touch.

“Daenerys.”

She turns over, eyes soft and inviting, much like the rest of her. She cups Robb’s face to bring his lips to hers and that was it. The dam breaks and Robb feels himself tumble into her web without a care. He'd tangle himself in further and further into her, stroking fingers through her loose hair, kissing her until there was nothing but her lips and her body.

In the moment that's all it comes down to, right? His body against her’s and nothing but pure need binding them together. It makes everything else dim and dull. Leaning down pressing his mouth to her shoulder he hums at the pleasure of her hips below, rocking and creating friction.

He grapples with the hem of her shift, bunching it up further to feel the bare skin of her thighs, “Daenerys.” His other hand is still tangled in her hair and he accidentally yanks her head back making her gasp in surprise.

“Robb, take off your clothes,” she murmurs into his throat and everything surfaces. His feelings, how he’s tried to ignore them. Replacing the fondness for hate because he will never be that _one_ for her. Even now he wonders who she envisions on top of her.

Now her hands sliding up his tunic feel wrong, tickling his ribs and smoothing up to cling to his back. _Wrong wrong wrong._

Taking her arms, Robb pins them to near her head, where her hair splays around her beautiful face. Ignore, he wills himself to ignore it and continues to kiss her. Wrists twisting in his hands Daenerys mewls some sort of plea in Valyrian, his brain too foggy to translate the words. Robb silences her, afraid that she may utter a name under her breath that isn't his. _Ignore ignore ignore_.

Legs wrapping around his waist and body writhing, Robb may have her hands pinned, but she's in control. She's always been in control.

He's stronger than her. If he could steel himself, shut his mind off and take what he needs from her-- he tightens the grip on her wrists and pulls back to look at her, to take her in. Mouth parted and eyes black with lust. _He can't._

He can't use her to satisfy a temporary craving. Feeling disgusted he releases her and peels himself from her body.

“Robb,” she calls for him when he's already out of bed and searching for his boots.

“Robb?”

What is he supposed to say? He's paranoid of the invisible third person in the room? It's too much to ask for her heart, but without it how could a take from her body? How can he enjoy her touch when she's thinking of someone else? He might as well be fucking one of Theon’s whores.

Without a cloak or a single clear thought, Robb leaves to embrace the night chill in the godswood. Heart pounding and breath ragged, he's shaken. Upset mostly at himself for deliberately setting up this pathetic onslaught of feelings. He shouldn't have played into her game. He should've buried himself beneath furs and slept with his back to her.

Not even Grey Wind can accompany him near the heart tree. He's not his father, Robb doesn't like to be left here to think. He doesn't like to be alone, there's no peace in solidarity.

The cold gets to his hands first, he cups them together and pulls them to his mouth to breath hot air to warm them. At least he can think about what a dolt he is that he'd forgotten gloves and cloak. Anything is better than thinking about her.

He hates her, he loves her, it's two sides of the same beautiful coin. If only he felt indifferent to her, then this inner turmoil could stop and he could find peace instead of masking his feelings in hopes to heal.

Robb stares into the face carved into the heart tree, it's crying tonight. Blood red sap running down its haunted eyes. Robb remembers when Sansa used to be scared of these old faces. Robb would take her here and tease her, what a rotten brother.

Arya was not so fearful, she tried to stab the faces with a fallen stick. She'd never be able to actually do it though, that would have been a great sin. At least that's what Robb told her, he didn't know for sure, but not even he would dare disturb the old trees. They are eerily alive.

The wind blows and the leaves rustle, flickering pink and red as they twist and whisper into the night. The snap of a twig disrupts the smooth murmur of the trees and Robb looks to see he is not alone.

She looks like the Night’s Queen, blue frostbitten lips, skin as pale as the moon, silver hair, red rimmed eyes. She's in nothing but that flimsy shift and measly slippers.

“Daenerys,” anger wells inside Robb, how could she be so stupid. He cannot even spare her his cloak. “Hurry,” he tries to take her under arm to race her back to the castle. They're deep inside the acre wood, they won't make it back before she catches some sort of fever.

She flinches from his grasp.

“Daenerys we don't have time, if you want to talk we’ll do it by a fire inside-- now come on.” He orders, yet defiant tears well in her eyes.

“Why did you do that? Why did you leave me?”

Robb can feel a headache coming on. “I said we’ll talk once you get warm inside the damn castle.” Robb grabs her arm and lifts her over his shoulder all while she fights him. Wriggling to set herself free and growling curses, he can't carry her for long.

So he steps toward the heart tree and throws her into the nearby hot spring. Her scream is silenced as she dunks below the surface and resumes when she comes back up.

“Robb!” She rubs her eyes free of water so she can burn him with her own steaming glare.

“I'm not going to watch you freeze.” He realizes he’ll have to go back for more cloaks and blankets than he can carry to wrap her in on the way back, but at least now the color is returning to her lips. “I'll be back with a horse and… pretty much all of your clothes and furs.”

“Robb don't leave me here.” Her voice is laden with desperation. “The bottom of this spring is slippery and slimy and this tree…” her impatience is replaced by fear, “Robb look at me damn it!”

He does. And even wide eyed, scared, and soaked she exudes strength.

He listens, but pretends not to take too much interest lest she think she can command him like some dog.

“I'll have to leave you eventually. You can't stay in there forever. The second you step out you'll freeze into a dragon icicle, I need to have cloaks to dress you in.”

She sinks lower into the spring, eyes on Robb like knives but he can tell she likes it. The steam, the heat, she's taking the moment to savor it. “Have you ever been in here?”

He wanted to laugh. _No_ , she may be the first person to ever go in that hot black water.

She turns to gawk at the grand heart tree and it's leaves. “There's nothing like this in the king's Landing godswood… we could've gotten married in front of that thing?”

She means the old face carved into the white bark. “Yeah. If we were to do it the old way.” It could've been more sincere that way. With only he, Daenerys, and the old gods present, they could've said their vows. Instead the capital demanded grandeur over sincerity.

Robb shakes his head, it was never meant to be about love anyway. He just foolishly expected it.

Shifting his weight and holding in his arms, Robb can feel the cold creeping in. “I'm gonna have to go soon.”

Daenerys glides effortlessly through the water to the spring’s edge. “Come here.”

Robb rolls his eyes slowly stepping toward her and kneeling. Her whole arm smokes as she lifts it through the cold air to cup Robb’s cheek. She's hot, hotter than she should be.

“Ow!” He flinches from her touch and frantically tests the water with his own hand. It's scalding.

“Dany get out!” He curses, feeling like his fingerprints are burning off as he grips her shoulders. “Don't you feel that?” She looks at him as if he is the crazy one.

“Feel what?”

“How fucking hot this water is!”

She pauses in thought and then shrugs. For his own sake, Robb releases her, his hands red and blistering.

Now realization dawns on Daenerys. “Seven hells!” She takes Robb’s hand in hers to have a closer look but even that touch burns and he yanks free from her.

“Ow!” He scowls at her to make a point. “How do you not feel this?”

“I-I don't know…”

“A strong wind can freeze you at the drop of a hat but you soak in scalding hot water and you don't even feel it?”

“Yes I agree it's strange,” She says so frantically it sounds like one word. “I would like out now!”

A shadow prowls out of the woods behind Daenerys and Robb doesn't know how, but he's grateful Grey Wind found his way back in just when he needed him.

Robb quickly stands, “Grey Wind will keep watch on you, I- I'll be back.”

He's already turning and rushing back to the castle when he hears a strained “okay” from over his shoulder.

Not allowing himself to find logic for what he'd just witnessed, instead he only focuses on piling folded blankets on his horse and riding back to the godswood.

When he returns Daenerys looks just as stunned as when he left. She's nervously gathered her hair over her shoulder and is mindlessly braiding the wet strands.

Not a word exchanged as Daenerys stands in the shallows and Robb uses a blanket to extract his steaming wife from the spring. She is quite literally smoking against the midnight chill.

Wrapped in every blanket Robb is careful not to let any part of her bare skin touch him as he helps her up on the horse. “Robb your face… it's all red...”

She's apologetic but Robb just jumps on after her, taking the reins, still being careful to avoid her her hair. “It's fine… lets just get back so we can sleep this off.”

•••

In his familiar dark and quiet bedchamber his wife is in her normal robe under her usual amount of furs while Robb is over them and their backs face each other. _This_ , this is how their normal night should've began…. and now things are anything but normal…

Robb keeps wide awake until dawn and he's sure Daenerys has done the same, turning the night’s events inside out trying to make sense of it.

Sick of feigning sleep, Robb rises, dresses, and leaves to break his fast alone in his solar to find distraction in work.

Sadly, it's not too long before a knock shakes him from his routine of letters.

He's not shocked to see Daenerys slip in, her hair all done up and wrapped in her fur trimmed cloak.

Robb stands to regard her but says nothing.

“We have a lot to talk about.” She says to make Robb’s worse nightmare a reality.

“If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to.”

“But I do-- about everything.”

“Wouldn't you need one of your ladies in waiting for support or something.” A simple jab that Robb only uses to delay the inevitable, it doesn't even earn him an eye roll.

Daenerys straights, standing tall and proper with her hands tucked within fur trimmed bell sleeves. “Are you alright? Aside from the events in the Godswood. I genuinely thought we had a good day yesterday.” Her chin begins to drop, voice dwindling to a soft murmur. “I wrote to the southern lords on your behalf, I spoke to your mother to ease her mind about the Winter Town strumpets, and you had– we shared a nice moment…”

Impulsive, reactionary… elusive. Those are the words Robb would use to describe that ‘nice’ moment. “And you planned for that moment, didn't you? Why would you do that if not to get something from me? I still don't trust you, Daenerys. If you're looking for a reason, that's it, that's why I had to leave before anything else could happen.” He can't trust her nor his own stupid feelings. He betrays his own self interest by doting on a woman that would sooner kill him if it means getting what she wants.

Robb can't forget her capital schemes. She was born into the game and Robb is flailing at catching up, but he's learning.

Keeping his guard up in his own home is more exhausting than he would've imagined. Daenerys tenses, her eyebrow ticking up slightly as that mad glint enters her eye. “And if I just wanted to sleep with you? Would it be a crime if I wanted one night with a man that should be my husband.”

“You don't take an interest in me, princess. Never, nor have you made your intentions clear to me.”

“Laying practically naked isn't clear enough for you?”

“I've seen you be much more forward.”

“I wanted you to choose–! You know what, fine! My intention, my true, sinister, intention was to have you fuck a baby into me so your Maester and your mother could stop whispering about it behind my back! I'm not deformed, it is not _my_ fault there is no new babe.”

Robb’s jaw tightens. “Come here.” He commands and she does so wearily from hearing the anger in his voice. Robb grabs her hand, pulls up her sleeve, and forces it into the flame of the candle burning on his desk.

He can feel her and there is no flinch, no groan of agony and her hand is directly in the fire.

He takes her hand and flips it to inspect her palm, no pain, no blisters, her skin is not even red. “That,” Robb breathes, “is a deformity.”

Daenerys ruefully reclaims her arms and hides it beneath her bell sleeve once again. “I am Valyrian.”

“You think that's what it is? I don't know what history you were taught, but people of old Valyria could still burn, but you don't. You're–” Robb pauses, remembering what she had called herself one night at Dragonstone. “You're not a witch are you?”

“No!” She takes high offense. “I am blood of the dragon and no fire can kill a dragon.”

It sounds like the nonsense an over zealous Targaryen would say. “I may head off to the library later to find real answers. There's always a legend or myth for anything in there.”

“I will join you.” Daenerys adds, “I will join you alone. No one needs to know of this, not even my ladies.”

Thank the gods, those ladies in waiting are a pain. They clutter the castle and gossip and request the oddest foods for meals. Above all they are annoying and any time Daenerys leaves them behind is an act of mercy.

A knock at the door makes Daenerys jump and she takes two long steps away from the candle, it shouldn't, but it amuses Robb.

Theon pokes his head in before entering all the way. He bows and looks solemnly to Robb. “Deserter.” He says and the room grows a fraction darker. “The patrols outside the gates have him.”

Robb has yet to do this-- to behead someone in the name of his _good_ King… “get my broadsword.” Nothing cuts like Valyrian steel, but Ice still belongs to his father.

Robb can see Theon's eyes flicker to Daenerys before they're nervously back on him. “It’s Aegon.”

Daenerys steps forward immediately. “Then he cannot be a deserter.” She says firmly. “Bring him in and we’ll see what message he was sent to give us.”

Theon ignores her for Robb. “He's not in a good way… he looks ragged like he ran from the wall to Winterfell. A deserter.”

Daenerys turns back, her eyes lit aflame with emotion. “Robb he's not, let him in.”

“He's a brother of the night’s watch,” he says carefully. “He took his oaths…”

“He’s not a deserter if you say he isn't and send him back,” Daenerys takes a fluid step toward Robb and takes each of his hands tight in her own grip. “I am your woman, for now and always, please listen to me.”

_His woman_ , she was never his woman-- she is no ordinary woman. He can still feel the heat from the candle linger on her left hand. “

I'll speak to Aegon.” He finally says. Aegon isn't a fool that runs from his duties, that Robb can trust.

“Your sword?”

“Leave it.” He tells Theon. Daenerys’ hands tighten more around Robb’s so he is forced to look down at her. He doesn't want her to think she had any sway in his decision, he did it because he believes in Aegon.

Robb keeps his voice quiet as he speaks to Daenerys. “If Aegon does not have valid reasoning for abandoning, I must uphold him to his vows. You understand?” Robb likes Aegon, he took him for a man true to his word. In the back of his mind Robb prays that it is a misunderstanding.

Daenerys tentatively nods, the heart sick worry never leaving her eyes. “His reason is valid. I know him, when Aegon commits to something he commits.”

Robb nods, noting how he will have pry Daenerys’ hands off. “You will stay.”

“No, I am capable of riding out with you.”

“Stay.” Tone much more harsh, Grey Wind stands to shepherd Daenerys back as Robb removes himself from her grasp. “If he’s still a man of the Night’s Watch, like any other, he is welcome to our table.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya has always dreamed of a pack of her own. One that never leaves. 
> 
> AKA dumb confused boy lacks communication skills and ruins everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this is angsty af i don’t know how that happened ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Another feast crowds the Great Hall in the dying evening, a common occurrence as of late. It is not a coincidence that the crown has done more entertaining since Prince Oberyn’s arrival from the distant sands of Dorne. The adventurous Martell thrives in an atmosphere of lighthearted fancies all while it plagues Arya with a peculiar sort of fatigue.

The people of King's Landing have always been overwhelming to Arya, but now they’ve worn on her very last nerve. Social gatherings are tedious and when she is introduced to someone new Arya cannot even bear throwing on a polite smile.

She feels like a recluse, she feels everyone else around staring at her and whispering that she’s a recluse, she doesn’t care. She’ll sit alone at the smallest trestle table she can find.

It’d be different if Bran were here… Bran, Robb, Rickon, even Sansa and Mother. If they were here then she’d smile.

Jolly, foot tapping music rings through the hall all the way to the back where Arya sits alone, her hand idling turning a goblet on the oaken table. Red up to the rim, she’s filled it with a fine Dornish red and she fully intends to drink it all.

At these feasts she’s eaten to her belly’s content, danced until she was blue in the face, and met so many lords and ladies she cannot possibly remember all their names. Tonight she will finally drink, it’s the only thing she hasn’t done and nobody can shut up about it.

Her father keeps too busy to pay any mind to her whereabouts during these evening feasts, and in the back of her mind Arya knows not to betray her father’s trust yet she also knows a goblet of wine won’t kill her.

Arya takes a breath as she lifts the cup to her lips. Sips are for ladies, squeezing her eyes shut she takes a hulking gulp and swallows it down. A perfumed warmth trails from her throat to her stomach and she can’t help her mouth from twisting at the foul sensation.

Though it is only foul for a mere blink. The alcohol’s sting fades into something pleasant. The wine is as dark as blood but has a sweet taste. The more Arya drinks the more she’s accustomed to the candied burn.

Thoughts of home now hang loosely over her shoulders, no longer consuming and suffocating her being. With her instincts now at lax the feast’s distractions seem more interesting. Arya is perfectly content humming and swaying to the singer’s songs all by her lonesome.

“Perhaps you’d like to dance?”

Arya twists on the bench to look back, Jon stands in his tailored prince garb. It’s so much more formal than the light tunic and dusty breeches she’s accustomed to seeing on him when they train. Arya supposes she looks different as well. For one she’s in a dress…

“Don’t you owe your time to your lords?” Arya’s allotted time with the king has already been spent during this morning’s duel.

Jon shrugs. “It was getting stuffy on the dais. What are you doing on your own? Where’s Jory?”

“Jory’s grown bored of me long ago– or I have of him, either way I prefer solitude.”

Jon steps over to sit beside Arya on the bench. He slumps over the table, forgetting proper manners and leaning on his elbows. “If you want to be alone, then leave.” Had his voice not been so soft Arya would’ve taken slight to such a command, but she’s still annoyed. She does not have a good response.

“I want to be alone in here.” In her room she’d be in bed staring into the black abyss that is the ceiling and picturing Winterfell within it. Here there is song, there are drunkards attempting to charm young ladies, there are plenty of distractions to watch unfold.

Jon doesn’t question a single word of Arya’s madness. “Have you been–?” The empty goblet is in Jon’s grasp now and he’s holding it up as if it is something to admire.

Arya tries to suppress a grin.

“You did.” Jon can read the look in her eyes as plain as words on paper and it amuses him. Eyes crinkling into a smile he nudges Arya’s shoulder and it feels as if he tipped the whole hall over.

It should scare her, but it doesn’t. Arya giggles feeling the room spin all while she’s seated and takes purchase on Jon’s arm to ground herself back to the world. “ _I did_.” She confirms, linking her arm with his and resting her head on his shoulder as she comes down from a bouncing laughter.

“Like this you’d have a hard time keeping up with me for a change.”

Stamina and swift feet are the things arya has on her side, she can spin circles around Jon with needle in her hand. Of course he’s more practiced and bests her every time, but his breath is always ragged at the end.

Arya feels him shift in his seat and clear his throat. “I have yet to dance with you this evening.”

With every feast comes a chivalrous cavort with the king. Arya squeezes Jon’s arm tight before propping her chin on his shoulder and she realizes just how close she is to him. “I’m tired of dancing.” _I’m tired of King's Landing._

Jon turns and once she feels the warm heart of his palm cup her cheek it all happens fast. His lips press into her’s. She doesn’t do anything, she just feels. Keeping still she can feel his warm breath brush over her skin. Arya leans in, not knowing how to kiss but already dislikes the space between their lips. She turns the gentle touch into a firm, harsh connection that makes Jon grip her shoulders to push her back.

Shame reddens Arya’s cheeks as she wipes a stray tear that leaves her eye. She swallows thickly as she tries not to choke on her words. “I-I don’t know. I just– I wanted to get closer.”

Jon’s mouth parts but he doesn’t say a thing and there’s a worry line between his brows that makes Arya sick to her stomach. 

“I just wanted to be left alone!” Her lip quivers and her breath heaves into a near sob. She’s lied. She never wanted to be alone. She’s tired of being alone. An hour of companionship in the morning isn’t enough, not when she’s used to having Bran to read with or Rickon to run with or Sansa to sew with.

“Arya…” Jon takes her arm in one hand and her cheek with the other and holds her still, forcing her to look straight into billowy, smoke filled eyes.

Undaunted, she takes the challenge, her mouth pulling into a tight frown as she wills herself not to cry.

“May I kiss you again?”

Her face opens to shock. After she blinks away all surprise she nods, and this time Arya does not spoil the sweetness with her sloppiness. Eyes closed and lips relaxed, Jon caters Arya through soft kiss that is just enough before Arya can feel a smile bloom against her and soon she’s forced to follow suit.

Jon pulls away, his hand coming to his mouth in attempts to hide a boyish grin.

Arya scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip, alas she cannot bite down this smile. Now a question pops to the front of her mind. “Why?”

Past Jon’s inky curls Arya can see prying eyes staring incredulously at her. She’s forgotten Jon is the king.

Again, the people of King's Landing and their failure to understand privacy wrack Arya’s nerves to her very core. She’s angry and that is the last thing she wants to be feeling.

Jon notices the change. “What is it?”

Before Arya can utter a word, gold plates chink just beside her and she looks up to see Jaime Lannister. His eyebrow is raised but his usual catty smirk is lost and replaced with grim line.

“What is it?” This time Jon sounds impatient and doesn’t care to let his annoyance be known.

Green eye blaze down at Arya before they’re back regarding Jon. “News from the Wall, your grace. Would you mind holding audience in your solar?”

As instinct compels him, Jon rises. “Of course, why would I mind…” he mutters and Ser Jaime escorts him down the hall until they both disappear beyond the heavy mahogany doors.

Arya knocks over her empty goblet and leaves her lone table in search for her father. If Jon is having a meeting she doubts he’s still around, but still it can’t hurt to look.

Up on the dais all she can see is Viserys Targaryen and his hard edged face pulled into a pout. There aren’t even any kingsguard left around.

Feeling that there’s nothing left to stay for, Arya takes out for the cover of the stars. Wandering the gardens is something she’s grown used to. The smell of the city is faint here and if she goes to the castle's mockery of a godswood there is ever hardly anyone there.

Arya kneels before the gross imitation of a heart tree and digs her finger into the dirt. By memory she traces Winterfell’s walls and corridors. Mapping out each room and path that she can recall.

When she’s done all that she can her body shakes, lungs fill with the forest air, and she a seizes into a sob. She’s crying over the blank spaces of her home that she’s forgotten. A bristle of fur nudges her arm and she doesn’t have to look, Arya puts her arm over and pulls Nymeria near. “I want to go home.” She sobs in uneven breaths.

_Mother, Robb, Sansa, Bran, Rickon…_ she’s had her first kiss and still all she can think about is them. They never leave her, this heart sickness makes her weaker by the day. Arya can feel it seep from her chest, outward, until it pools out of her eyes in hot waves.

The snap of a twig silences her cries and as a shadow steals the moonlight around her. Arya wipes the wetness in her eyes until she turns and sees it’s Jon.

Arya doesn’t cry in front of people, but Jon is– he’s not just a person. He’s a friend.

And as a friend, Arya can tell by the look in his eye that he did not expect her to be here. His face is stone, mouth in a grim line and Arya’s breath wavers seeing his mood is not faring any better than her’s.

_That was a fast council meeting_. “What happened?” Arya’s never felt smaller, kneeling in the dirt crying with a shaken voice is nothing compared to the way Jon looks down at her. Eyes distant and cold, like she was a stranger who had no business being in his presence. Being lashed bare through the streets would hurt less.

The way he looks at her, it feels like betrayal. “What is it?” Arya strains through a clenched jaw as to not be ignored again. Jon’s brows sink over his eyes, turning them into malicious slits and keeps his silence.

Arya’s come up harshly to rub the weakness from her heated cheeks before she rises from the dirt to rightfully stand her ground, she’s done nothing yet Jon is treating her as if she is just that. _Nothing_.

Nothing, and after they had just shared so much. Flashes of rage whip through her veins and fuel her trudge forward as the heel of her palms dive into the hard bone of Jon’s sternum, but humiliating enough, even though she put her whole body into the shove, he refused to budge.

Her breath is wild in a series of shallow pants as she strikes and strikes his chest. Grunts and gasps that verge all too close to turning into cries of confused anguish, but it’s all she’s capable of doing. Too exhausted to talk or think, she expels what little energy she has into trying to hurt someone she cares about.

When her strength begins to falter and her muscles are completely drained Jon captures her wrists and pulls her close to steady her shaky legs.

“I’m leaving King’s Landing.” He says lowly and it still doesn’t explain the coldness. The cruelness he showed her when she trusted him with everything. Her feelings, her body, her training. “I’m sorry.”

His grip leaves her and Arya finds herself alone within a smattering of wispy summer trees. Leaning back against the false heart tree she sinks to the ground and Nymeria makes a soft whistle noise as she curls herself around Arya.

She’s not sure if she ever found sleep, but she’s awake when morning’s light floods the forest floor. The ring of her name echoes and she can’t place the direction it’s coming from until it stands right before her.

“Arya,” the gentle tone of her father’s voice is able to break through the fog she’s been living in since last night.

His hand big and warm over her cheek as he lifts her gaze to his forbearing plates of steel that Arya had not seen in so long.

Her lip quivers, “father,” she burrows into Ned Stark’s chest and he holds her so tight she thinks it cracks the iron that is her heart to let some happiness shine through. “Are you alright.”

She doesn’t answer, but she feels she will be if they could have just this moment last a little longer.

But the small ray of joy is turned to shadow once again when the chinking of King’s Guard armor surround the wood. “The king? Where is the king?” Ned holds Arya closer as he brings her to her feet.

“I’m taking my daughter to the maester.”

Jaime Lannister presses his grin into a look of distaste. “The girl knows her way around, we need your eyes more than she does.”

She wants to spit on that golden beacon of lies, but he doesn’t need any help with soiling his own knighthood. “I am taking her.” Ned says and it’s the final word.

He stays with her through the day at Arya’s bedside. She should feel useless for doing nothing but laying in her guest room’s fluffiest of feather beds, but she can’t get herself to regret the way she’s spent her day when her father is here.

Not just here, in the same room reading other letters and answering to every other patron that needs something, he’s fully present and mindful of Arya and her existence.

Sidling up closer to her bedside, Ned takes her hand, his thumb soothing over her knuckles. Arya smiles warmly to him but for the first time today he does not return it.

“I wanted to wait until you’ve had some rest and something to eat.” He begins and Arya is reminded of the filling bowl of porridge she had just finished and reveled in. “Things are not well for us here.”

Arya’s breath stills as she thinks of the possibilities of what that could mean.

“The King, Jon is gone.”

She knows. She knows and she’s trying not to care.

Ned sighs and it pains Arya to hear that tired sound again. “There was word from up north, Aegon Targaryen had gone back on his vows and Robb executed the boy.”

He says it slowly and carefully, but still Arya cannot believe it.

“Aegon’s dead? Robb wouldn’t have done that, he liked Aegon!”

“He did what was required of him, he did what others have been doing for centuries.”

Arya’s voice catches in her throat. “And Jon? Has he just abandoned the realm?” She doesn’t want to believe it. Jon is brave and loyal. He never wanted to be king yet he’s dedicated his life to his studies and training and retained kindness for the people he serves over.

“The boy needs space, he did not look well receiving the news, but people here don’t understand that. He’ll be back with time.”

Arya shakes her head, “he told me he was leaving. I didn’t think he meant it but I didn’t know about Aegon…” she wants to go back to that moment, she would have handled it differently now with what she knows.

A knock at the door, “Lord Eddard–“ Jory Cassel’s voice is urgent as it muffled through Arya’s closed chamber door. “It is a pressing issue, Lord Tywin Lannister is close upon approaching the city gates.”

A certain gleam leaves Ned’s eyes as he nods to the unexpected news. “Rest and by the time you wake everything will be back in order.” He kisses her forehead with great care before leaving to carry out his duties as Hand rather than father.

Arya knows he’s doing his best and will never stop loving him for that, but he’s wrong, if she simply sleeps and does nothing, nothing will change. Besides, she’s not tired anymore.

Nymeria scratches and whines at the door as Arya dresses and belts needle to her hip. If anyone’s going to find Jon it’s going to be her and with a clear head she’s going to fix this mess.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile back in Winterfell. . .

Worn leather easily gives way to the puncture of Dany’s needle. The sewing circle is larger than normal this cold morning, most likely because Sansa had been thoroughly courted by the Small Jon during the Umber’s visit. Now that they were on the road back to their holdfast it was safe to girlishly prattle along freely. Sansa adores the attention and Dany’s ladies in waiting love the gossip. They thrive on it.

Each girl is chirping excitedly to one another as they embroider house sigils, elegant flowers, dainty forest animals. Dany trades soft colorful silk threads for a coarse wool floss as she mends a pair of her husband’s riding gloves. In King’s Landing it would be foolish to keep such an old pair. Dany remembers she would get fresh new gloves each time she went riding.

She wonders what happened to all those barely worn gloves. Robb has had the same pair longer than he’s had Daenerys as a wife, he’s probably more attached to them as well. Of course, the north doesn’t have the luxury of imported goods as the capital does. Supplies here seem to always be rationed, winter or not. How charming the north is, with its meager food supply and silver snows...

The quick mention of her name makes Dany’s head tick up from her thoughts. “Hm?” She has not been talkative for the last few days, conversation does not prick her ears as easily as it once did. She mostly sits and worries more and more for Aegon.

Sansa pulls her needle through the canvas in her lap as she makes a delicate stitch. “Oh, I was just saying how lucky you are. I’m flattered by the Small Jon’s kindness, but I hardly imagine myself marrying him. You’re so fortunate to to be happy in your marriage. I’m learning that happiness is not always present in a betrothal… but,” Sansa smiles so sweetly as her cheeks redden and she shrugs, “I just think it’s beautiful that you’re a lucky one, and I hope the gods will be as kind to me.”

Dany grips the leather taut in her hands. “Yes,” she says with a tight lipped smile, “I hope so too.”

The tender flower that is Sansa Stark, it’s a wonder how she’s survived in the frigid north and still manages to bloom and dream and sing songs of fanciful love that is pure. Dany is not bitter of her blissful thoughts, rather she is saddened by it. It reminds her of childhood and all the pretty, idealistic things she thought she’d be and do.

Now Daenerys is living a mummer's farce with a husband who would rather sleep on the floor with his wolf than beside her, but yes, to the blue belle eye of Sansa Stark, she is happy in her marriage.

But soon Sansa will be forced to give up those pretty embroideries and the freedom to stitch whatever picture she desires for a pair of old gloves that need mending, just as Dany has. Then she will see what it is like, nothing as beautiful as she would imagine.

Dreams can be nice, but they’re not real. They’re not functional.

Dany quickly pulls the loose floss into a knot, cuts off the excess, gathers the finished gloves in hand, and makes for the door, leaving her ladies and Sansa behind. She had not been interested in the conversation anyway.

Turning to the hall just after she’s shut the door, Robb catches her and the meeting is unexpected. “Oh,” Dany blinks to avoid his eyes. She did not want to be pestered with questions that he so often tries to ask. Talking will not help her fretting, and that is all Robb is willing to do. “I’ve mended your riding gloves.” She presses the fruit of her labor to his chest and only lets go after he’s fully grasped them.

He cradles them as if they were valuable and not old and worn from use. “Thank you, my lady. That was kind, you didn’t have to…”

“It had to be done, so I did it.” She snaps abruptly.

Robb nods and does away with the superficial conversation. “Aye. Have you seen him yet?” Daenerys points her stare to the floor, this is what she wished to avoid, but Robb’s broad shoulders don’t make it easy for her to slip past him down the corridor. Dany can hear the disappointment in her husband’s voice. “He’s awake and asking for you. Don’t make him wait any longer.”

Dany crosses her arms within her cloak as Winterfell’s chill comes back to her attention. “I’ll visit when he’s better. When he can sit up on his own and have his eyes open for more than a fleeting second.” She couldn’t bear his usually so sharp and witty eyes reduced to unfocused glassy rings of purple that hardly recognized her.

Robb’s face falls and he manages to pierce Dany’s eyes with his own. “And if the fever never breaks?”

“It will.” She says it and she means it. Aegon is strong, he’s always been. He was ragged, thin, and injured when he came to Winterfell. Of course there’s rumor that Robb is weak, a green boy who doesn’t have the stomach to do his duty, ever since he let Aegon through the gates. Nothing nicer has been said about Daenerys, the foreign princess that doesn’t know the ways of old. They’ll slander her and tell her she’s looking out for her own and not the north.

Dany doesn’t care what the common folk whisper behind their hands, Aegon is worth it. He could hardly speak when Robb brought him in, clutching his side. When maester Luwin inspected him he determined a festering wound and fever plagued him along with dehydration and fatigue.

He’d slept for days… Daenerys prays everyday that he’s healing. The fever will break. If she could will the gods to heal him she would, no matter the cost.

A strong hand curls over her shoulder. “You’ll see him today, if something happens and you don’t– I won’t let you regret not seeing him.”

Dany isn’t so dense that she doesn’t see he’s right, but for once she wishes he wasn’t. She’s too afraid to see Aegon weak and she is useless to him. All she can do is send prayers to deaf ears.

Robb doesn’t take his eyes off of her until she gives a shallow nod and he begins to usher her along in silence to the east wing of the castle where it is kept much warmer.

When the door is a step away, Dany feels Robb stay behind as she tentatively grasps the handle. A deep breath later she’s opened the door to a quiet room drenched with the scent of lavender and various herbs, and kept toasty with a glowing hearth. Not quite the horrors she had anticipated, death does not hang in the air nor are black crows gathering on the window sill waiting to pick flesh from a lifeless body. Dany shuts the door behind her and wastes no time hastening her pace to Aegon’s bedside.

She gets on her knees and the action is so familiar from all the time she’s prayed in the modest Winterfell sept. “Aegon,” She takes one limp hand that had been laying over his bandaged stomach.

Daenerys’ breath catches seeing just how still he is. His face is relaxed and pale. Paler than she’s ever known before and his lips are as white as his hair. Her other hand cups his cheek and finally he shifts, releasing a groan as he wakes. “Dany,” He keeps his voice as soft as his creaking gaze finds her. She’d missed those eyes.

“Aegon,” Dany trembles and leans her forehead to his shoulder, too fearful that a full embrace would be too much for his fragile state. “I’m sorry.” She whispers. It was selfish of her to not visit as soon as he had woken. She was only thinking of blissful ignorance and didn’t wish to see him so broken. The cotton wrapped over his stomach is blood free, but his fever is ever present. She can feel the heat.

Aegon smiles, it is a weaker version of his normal smirk but no less beautiful to see. “Don’t be sorry, I’m feeling better than I have been in a fortnight– or perhaps even longer than that. Time has been slipping from me in this room.”

Dany tugs his hand to her lips. She blinks to keep any rebellious tears at bay. Aegon’s eyes pin to her’s and he falters. For a breath he sees the worry tormenting her features and he doesn’t like that. He never could stand being fretted over. He and Jon differed that way.

Aegon wipes away the solemn silence as he slowly gets himself to sit up in bed, Dany watches him carefully ready to offer support if needed. “Look,” Aegon points to a bundle on the writing desk across the room. Dany recognizes it immediately. It’s Aegon’s dragon egg wrapped in canvas that had been fashioned into a sling of sorts.

“I carried it around like that at the wall, I caught a lot of flack for it. A nursing mother, they’d call me.” Aegon gives a weak chuckle at his recollection. “I never cared, I was just happy I got to keep it. I never let it go.”

“I have mine too.” Of course she does, no one had ever threatened to take it from her. Aegon most likely had to fight to keep possession of his dragon egg. Dany’s has just been settled in the chest beside her bed. Some nights, when Robb found more comfort in his solar than in his own bed beside her, Dany would take it out and put it by the fire to watch the flames dance within the reflection of the scales.  
  
“Well I’d hope you would still have it and not barter it away like a common jewel.” Dany eases into a laugh and seeing her smile allows Aegon to relax. “Sansa has visited me since I woke up, you know. Everyday she comes in with food and she stays to break fast with me.”

Flowery little Sansa would never marry a brute like Smalljon Umber, but she is not so subtle in showing that her affection lies with a boy who has elegant Valerian and Dornish features. “She likes you quite a lot.”

“I know, and she brings the best food. She is going to make it hard to leave Winterfell once again.”

The quick mention of his departure has Daenerys’ heart grating on the walls of her chest. “Leave? W-wait, why would you leave?”

His brows pinch together. “Why wouldn’t I? I didn’t break my vows. I’d be dead if that were the case.”

For appearances sake Daenerys always championed that Aegon would never flee from his sacred order of the Night’s Watch, but she had internally assumed he did. There was no other reason why he would come to Winterfell alone and seemingly on the run… “Then why– what happened to you? Why did you come here? Did you speak to Robb?” Obviously Daenerys did not know as much as she thought and she feels a fool for assuming so much.

“Yes, we spoke.” Aegon’s face hardens, the new warmth already leaving his cheeks. “Everything is fine, Robb has sent a letter to Lord Commander Mormont of my absence. As soon as I am well enough to travel I’ll be on my way.”

“No, you’ll stay as long as you’d like! Has Robb demanded you leave?” He’s been so gentle about mentioning Aegon’s well being that Daenerys can hardly believe he’d be so cold.

“No,” Aegon hurries to say. “No, Robb is… Robb has more patience than what I would have expected, but adrenaline led me to Winterfell. I had to tell you what is out there, Daenerys.” He takes her hand, his grip surprisingly strong and firm. All traces of mirth leave his eyes and Dany can hardly recognize him. “It’s beyond the Wall…”

“What?”

“Evil–it's going to sound mad. I thought about telling Robb, but if anyone is going to believe me it’s you.”

“Then tell me– Did it do that to you?” Dany looks to his bandages and Aegon hides them with the bed furs.

“No– well, yes, but I was foolish enough to ignore treating it. I was just focused on getting to Winterfell… to tell you I saw white walkers.”

“White walkers?” She doesn’t understand.

“Evil made of ice and they take the shape of men. They’re a northern tale told to scare children… that was all they were meant to be, but I saw them with my own eyes, Dany. They taunted us through the forest, and when they killed the rangers they laughed. Their voices like shattering ice, they mocked our fear.”

With all her heart Dany can feel the truth in Aegon’s eyes, she just can’t comprehend the monsters he describes.

“No one in the ranging party was left and faster than any man I’d ever seen… one of them came after me. A scythe made of clear ice swung at me and once it collided with my blade it reduced the steel to crystallized ash. It swung at me again and gouged my side. I stared into its eyes and waited for it to kill me but it walked away, and I don’t think it left me as a mercy.”

Dany puts her hand over Aegon’s forehead. He’s burning up. “Do you need the maester?” She can’t stop the tremble in her hand no matter how hard she holds onto Aegon.

“Do you believe me?”

“Of course I do, and I think you should stay here or go back home to Jon, but for now you need to lay back down.” Dany reaches to the side table to pour a glass of water from the pitcher. “You’re all worked up and sweating.”

Aegon leans his head on the bed’s headboard, closes his eyes, and takes a breath. “I’ll be fine, but you have to listen to what I’m saying.”

“I listened and nothing’s changed, “ Dany lectures, “you still need to get better and once you have we can talk about it…” Dany hands him the water and he takes a sip. “Will you tell Robb?”

“It depends, do you think he’ll take me as a mad man?”

Dany bites her lip. Robb has seen her whole hand cast in fire while her skin has refused to burn and hasn’t had her hanged for witchcraft. He must have a tolerance for the nonconventional... “I don’t think he would. . .”

An abrupt noise makes Dany jump and she looks to see maester Luwin come in the room. Hunched over and grey, He wearily glares at Daenerys. She is not his favorite resident in the castle. Aegon takes back her attention as he squeezes her hand one last time before letting go. “I’ll see you again soon?”

“Yes, do you think Sansa will be upset if I join in on your little morning meetings.”

Aegon weakly feigns scandal, “of course not, she is a lady and would welcome you with open arms.”

Dany smiles and rakes down some rogue tufts of Aegon’s bedhead before the maester implores her to leave so Aegon may have privacy while his wound gets cleaned.

As soon as she’s in the corridor she’s greeted by yellow eyes. Lady Catelyn has long since ceased her fight to keep the wolves outside. They go where their masters go.

“How is he?”

If it wasn’t for Grey Wind sitting expectantly in front of her, Robb would have taken her off guard. “He says he’s doing better. I felt his fever, I can’t imagine it being worse than what it is now…”

Dany thinks about the monsters Aegon told her about. Robb doesn’t know and he still spared his life.

Robb steps closer, he’s wearing the gloves she mended and there are fresh flakes of snow sprinkled in his hair. “And you?” Hope glistens in his eyes, “You feel better, don’t you?”

The muscle in Dany’s jaw strains. “I do.” She says and drops her gaze to the ground. She had been a coward. Too gripped with fear to see what had become of Aegon and then the crippling realization of not being able to help him. She had let everyone see how much of a fool she really is.

Cool leather grazes her jawline as Robb lifts her eyes back up to his. Their bright blue color so stunning and close Daenerys can’t hide from them anymore. The comfort he is enticing her with is unfair. Lately he’s been too kind, too gentle, and yet too distant.

She misses when his words had a bite and she could give back just as fiercely as he gave. Odd as it was, there was a backward companionship they shared. Now it is different.

Aegon’s unexpected arrival had weakened Dany’s resolve to be dutiful in the north. Instead of taking action and willing herself to be apart of the happenings in Winterfell, she had fallen back into the traditional roles of sitting in sewing circles and keeping Lady Stark and Bran company in his sick room. She felt useless and empty. Nothing except the worry she held for Aegon grounded her.

Now the faint touch of Robb’s glove on her cheek keeps her still and overwhelmed with warm contentment that she had not felt since her days in King’s Landing. . .

Her face heats up and she can feel the urge to cry arise. Not because of any anguish, but from the release of it. Slender fingers come up to curl over Robb’s hand and he leans in to bestow the slightest kiss. Brief as it had been, Daenerys still closes her eyes. Her breath trembles from her lips as she pulls into him. The embrace takes him by surprise, Dany can tell at the stiffness in his back, but in a moment’s time he eases and his hands come to rest on her waist.

Mouth on his shoulder, Daenerys holds onto him as tight as she can. She’s ached for this comfort for longer than she’d like to admit. He smells like the pale weirwoods and Dany can feel the lingering cold on his doublet vanish between them. She presses into him, one of her hands coming to tangle in his hair and her mouth against his neck.

For the first time it felt right. They fit together like a puzzle and neither struggled to part. It feels genuine. He let her nuzzle in close and nothing has ever felt more natural. This one gentle moment heals her more than all the late night talks Robb had tried in order to soothe the guilt, the fear, or whatever grief that was consuming her so.

When she peers over his shoulder, Dany blinks to be sure she is seeing right. Down the corridor with hands tucked neatly into her bell sleeves is Lady Stark, her expression is kept soft and caring, but that doesn’t make it any less of spying.

The kiss was for show. More for his overbearing mother than Dany… Dany bites down on her lip, staving off any tears that may want to drop as she releases her husband and takes a step back. “I must go and thank the gods for Aegon’s improving health.” She says to the floor and sets herself down the hall at a faster than normal pace.

Between her legs Daenerys can feel that she is wet and she doesn’t know what to make of it, especially when she passes Lady Stark who acknowledges her with a sympathetic bow of her head.

In a whirlwind she rushes into her chambers, wretches free from her binding dress and lets it slide down her legs to the floor and tries not to trip over the fabric as she stumbles on toward the bed. Dany climbs under her mountain of bed furs and lays on her stomach to be more discreet. Hand inching down to the waistband of her smallclothes, the first brush of her fingertips uproots a frustrated sigh and Daenerys bites down hard on the inside of her cheek. She’d do this with little to no noise, because it’s wrong, she knows this is wrong.  
  
Yet months of frustration won’t allow her to stop. Her hips shift over her hand and the featherbed, her mind recreating the peirce of Robb’s eyes, the touch of his hand. She can even still smell him on their bed. Daenerys takes the cotton sheet between her teeth. The slick remnants of her desire coat her fingers and her smallclothes as she quickly spirals and loses composure. She clenches her teeth together, feebly imagining that the fingers touching her were longer, thicker, and belonged to a warm body that should be right beside her.

Release comes fierce and lasting as she hums into the featherbed. Her muscles relax and she feels as if she could melt into fruitful sleep (which she direly needs).

A distinct noise trails into focus. The padding and scrape of Grey wind’s paws on the floor boards. Dany stills, trying her best to gain control of her breath.

“What are you doing?”

Dany bites her lip and closes her eyes, as if her silence and blindness would grant her invisibility. She’s covered by furs but even a shallow investigation would reveal what she’d done.

“I looked for you in the sept… if you’ve gotten tired of praying there you could go and try by the heart tree. Not that you need my blessing, but I just wanted you to feel welcome to do so if you needed a place to get away from people…”

Dany nearly cringes in half. Septs, heart trees, neither the old gods or the new were on her mind. She holds her breath and though she can’t see him, she can feel Robb sway uneasily in her silence.

“Daenerys… it’s still morning… It’s fine that you need sleep just– if you don’t feel well be honest and tell me.”

If her heart wasn’t pounding itself senseless into the featherbed she’d laugh. “I’m fine.” It comes out breathy and soft and Dany could kill herself on the spot for sounding so needy– because she isn’t… she’s taken care of the problem on her own.

Sharp thuds hit the floorboard, he’s moving closer, probably finding her dress carelessly thrown on the floor. Daenerys bites her knuckle, one eye closed while the other can’t help but crack open and wait for humiliation and shame to find her.

In the corner of her eye, he’s there. It doesn’t help to see him, or it does– either way Dany shifts and moves onto her side all while keeping the furs above her neck. She smiles and does her best not to look guilty.

A line forms between Robb’s brows as he evaluates her like he would a move in a game of cyvasse. He pulls off a glove and presses his hand to Dany’s forehead. “You’re hot. I should get Luwin.”

“Don’t!”

“I know you don’t like him, but–“

“Robb, no!” Daenerys makes a grab for him before he turns heel. She grabs him tight and he is so dead set on leaving that he nearly yanks her from the bed and onto the floor.

He clamors back, catching and helping her steady herself to the bed once more. The cover of furs had left her and Dany knocks back a hard swallow feeling Robb’s eyes on her state of dress. Shift hiked up over her thighs, praise the Seven her smallclothes are still intact or all decency would be lost.

He pauses and not so subtly stares, his eyes gliding up the expanses of her legs, to her chest, until they rest back on her flushed face.

His jaw is unhinged, mouth parted and with nothing to say. Dany quickly wrestled with the furs to tug them to her chest and avoids the flooding blue sea of her husband’s eyes by looking beyond him to the hearth. “I was only taking a rest…” a mid morning rest, about as believable as a flying pig.

Robb clears his throat. “Aye, you must be exhausted. I know the emotional toil you’ve been going through. I know it is not easy to see a loved one so hurt.”

He’s rambling to linger, she knows it. Dany has a thought to invite Robb to join her ‘mid-morning’ rest in bed, if anything she’d like something warm to hang on to, but her pride wouldn’t have it. He’d refuse anyway.

“Yes, now I’m relieved of this toil and I can sleep. So if you don’t mind…”

“Of course.” Robb nods his head, but makes no move to leave.

Dany bites down a laugh as she watches his eyes carefully glue themselves to her face, even as she lets the furs fall an inch or two. She won’t have to shamefully ask him to join her if he decides on his own if that’s what he wants...

Robb is handsome. Either the north has deluded her mind or she is just now seeing something that wasn’t there before. Regardless, she enjoys testing him. For once her heart is light and she is acting on the feeling, “Robb, your eyes have gone heavy.”

His brows tick up when he gets her implication, his mouth pops open to say something just when the door springs open.

Daenerys pulls up the furs to her neck once she hears Lady Stark’s unhinged voice bellow her son’s name as she whisks herself in.

Robb’s face weirdly contorts as he looks to his mother walking in their chambers without the slightest trepidation. Dany sees parchments bent out of shape in her grasp.

“What is it?” Robb asks, too stunned to sound angry at the intrusion.

Lady Catelyn holds out the rolled leaf of parchment in her hands, her eyes frantic, they don’t even realize Dany is in the room. “Letters from your father, tell me Robb, Why is it that he thinks Prince Aegon is dead!” Lady Stark’s Riverlands accent thickens when she is upset.

Robb scowls as he takes the letters from his Lady mother and examines the torn seal before pulling the edges apart to read. “He certainly didn’t get this information from me.” He says after a quick skim.

Lady Stark’s lips pull into a tight frown. “Write to him now, Robb. Hurry before someone really does get killed!” Lady Stark blazes from the room. Daenerys has never seen her so angry. She looks back to Robb, he’s still staring at the parchment.

“May I read it?”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Miscommunication is all.”

“Aegon’s not dead, he’s not going to die.”

“No, but my father is requesting his bones… I don’t know how or why he would assume–“

Dany scampers across the room and pulls a parchment from the writing desk’s drawer. “Write him back!” She moves so fast she almost knocks over a bottle of black ink. “The hand of the king thinks he’s dead–“ then the king must think he’s dead. Robb’s eyes cautiously snap to her as if the same thought popped into his mind.

Dany takes a steadying breath. “Jon–“

“He’s missing.”

Dany grabs the corner of the desk for strength. “What?”

“‘He was in distress upon hearing the news and before nightfall he went missing.” Robb places the letter plainly in front of her on the desk. “Read it if you don’t believe me.”

Daenerys sighs, her eyes roaming over Lord Eddard’s curt words and found that Robb hadn’t lied. Word for word, that was all Lord Eddard wrote of the missing king.

Robb reaches over her and pops the ink bottle open with one hand and begins to load up a quill. “I’ll send word of Aegon’s true condition and we’ll correct this.”

Dany worries more over the implications of what’s already been done. If Jon is of rational mind and how King’s Landing could have gotten such a perverse version of the truth when Winterfell’s own common folk rage over the fact Aegon was spared the King’s Justice…

Dany moves to slip her dress back on and begins to tighten it’s fastens. “I’m going to speak with Aegon. Together we may have an idea of where Jon could be.” Although she already has her suspicions that he may be heading north, Robb would not like to hear that.

Robb has his head down and reserved into his writing. “Aye, go on.”

Dany gives him a last look before she leaves. There is one more thing they should speak about; why in the name of the Seven was a letter meant for Robb opened by his mother, but that issue can wait a bit longer.

Now Daenerys must think of Jon. For months she held any thought of him at an arm's length. Of course the odd thing here or there would remind her of him, but she always kept those memories shallow for her own sake. She hoped he was doing the same, but again, she tries not to think about what he’s doing. If he’s missing her, if he’s forgotten her. It doesn’t matter, it all hurts.

And it’s all in the past.

Opening Aegon’s door, Dany unleashes the room’s aroma of essential oils and herbs. She’s shocked to see the Maester still hunched at Aegon’s bedside concocting some drink. Aegon’s head is tilting lifelessly to the side, his eyes closed, and his breath heavy with sleep.

“Maester Luwin, may I have a moment with him?” She’d let him rest for his recovery, but she’d wait for him to wake without the intrusion of Luwin.

The grey hunched figure freezes. Dany squints as she leans over to see beyond his cloaked shoulder, she expected him to be preparing a herbal tea but instead of filtered leaves he is handling a small vial already emptied into the goblet on Aegon’s bedside table. This isn’t Luwin at all.

The man turns, his hands nervously tucking themselves back in his sleeves. A hideous sort of smile bares his browning teeth. “M’lady,” he begins nonchalantly but Dany has already gained a defensive stance.

She’s never seen this man before and he looks like he’s come from poverty. Perhaps a wanderer from Winter Town who is upset that Aegon escaped execution.

Dany meets his beady wet eyes, they’re shrunken in fear of something–from being caught.

Aegon still lays unbothered, but once he wakes he’d want a drink from that tampered goblet. Dany slowly moves to close the door behind her so she may confront the stranger without him bolting away, which she suspects he’ll try. He’s unnerved and restless.

“Who are you?” She begins as calm as she can, but her voice shakes with not very well hidden anger.

“I’m here to tend, m’lady.”

Lies, lies spewing from his rotted mouth. “The contents of that vial?”

“Medicine, honest m’lady.” He shivers while looking down toward the filled goblet. “Sent straight away from the Maester.”

A step fueled by fire takes Dany closer to the cowering hunchback. “Maester Luwin is the only one meant to be healing! Who are you?” A rat from the street didn’t belong in the castle, a rat from the street wasn’t meant to be laying a finger on Aegon.

His beady eyes search the room and Dany can hardly say she’s surprised when he lunges for a wrought iron candlestick, but her heart still leaps in terror when he does.

He holds out the metal like blade but lacks all the confidence a good swordsman would have regardless of what’s in their hand. “Miss, I-I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You would only harm my family.” Dany makes for the table, past the stranger and lets out a scream when she feels her hair being knotted up in his fist.

He had been too scared to actually beat her with the candlestick. Hand outstretched, Dany fought to knock over the goblet but she came up short.

He’s stronger than her and pushes her back with such force she’s lands on her back with a hard thud. Her head aches with mighty throbs each time her heart beats madly in her chest.

Dany sits up and her eyes don’t leave the goblet, she’s determined and crawls up to the table to flip it. She’s beginning to lose the ground she’s covered and feels her ankles being pulled back. The man grunting with effort as he drags her further and further across the room.

“Please- I swear! I swear!” He says frantically in a hushed yell. He’s trying to keep things quiet.

Daenerys screams, hoping there is someone to alert within earshot. With all the noise Aegon is still lain drowsily over the bed and that makes Dany plant her fingers into the floorboards, clawing her way back to freedom. She kicks her legs in his grasp and he jostles trying to regain balance, Dany uses this to scramble just a few inches up so she can reach the glowing hearth.

There’s still plenty of hot coals beneath the grate. Dany, without much thought, takes handfuls and rolls onto her back to throw them at the intruder.

Most of the orange embers miss the target, but some had made it under his hood. The collision inspired yellow sparks to crack and fly sporadically from is cloak. Instantly, he began screaming and shouting and cursing as he flails in pain of the fresh burns on his face.

Dany, finally free, scrambles to Aegon. She cups his cheek to pull his lolled over head upright. “Aegon, Aegon!” She taps the side of his face. “Wake up!”

She can’t tell if it’s his skin that is hot against her hand or if it had been the after effects of the coals. Aegon’s eyes lazily droop open. It takes a moment too long for him to register what is happening and Dany is yanked back.

The cloaked man who had been near on timid earlier is toughened by anger. His eyes flashing dangerously at Dany and she can see his melted raw cheeks under the shadow of his hood. “I didn’t want trouble!” He grits with his hands on either side of her neck, squeezing her windpipe shut.

Dany does her best to look over and squirms when she see the bed is empty. She tries to scream but no air can pass through her throat. She digs her nails in his hands but it does nothing. He’s clenching the life from her, she’s only getting weaker as each second flies by.

A violent crack hits Dany’s ears and the hands around her neck falter and the intruder wilts to the ground. Standing behind is Aegon, his dragon egg in his hands and there’s fresh blood trickling from it’s pale cream scales.

Aegon’s breath is harsh as his egg clatters and rolls on the ground and he brings Dany into an embrace. “You’re okay?”

Dany nods against his shoulder and then her knees buckle feeling Aegon go weak and she tries to take on as much of his weight as she can. “I’m not leaving you, but we need–“

“Help.” Aegon finishes and together they fall to the ground in a heap beside the attacker. His skull cracked at the top from the dragon egg. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I s t r u g g l e d HARD with this chapter. I even had several versions of it where all sorts of wild things happened. YES, Aegon is alive, if there’s any confusion on that please let me know. I tried my best to explain it all but maybe I’ve been looking at this chapter for too long to see how muddy it actually is.
> 
> If Any major issues or problems are found I’ll happily make an edit to improve clearity/ flow of the story. I just wanted to finally update, I know it’s been a while I’m sorry!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2018!!

“You got plump cheeks and a well forged blade, it’ll be a silver stag for you, boy.”

Jon has never been a haggler, he’s never been in the position to until now and he can tell it is not one of his natural talents. The old innkeeper may have dull eyes but they’re deceptively keen and can read people like a book. Her teeth are rotted little brown nubs but she chews away on mint leaves to ease their stench.

Jon covers the hilt of his blade with his cloak and makes sure his hood is pulled well over so his eyes can stay shadowed, “I haven’t got much.” And he has to make it last. A coin purse of gold, silver, and copper it may be fat now but he’s only made it to Maidenpool. Still in the crownlands and he doesn’t know what trouble he’ll face ahead. It’s best to be frugal when he can.

“I have ten coppers, isn’t that better than nothing at all?” Jon plans to be well through the Riverlands when news of his disappearance spreads to the common folk, but he’ll never stick to course if this lady doesn’t stop making a fuss over him and would just accept a damn offer.

“You’re lying to me boy, and I don’t like liars. For twenty coppers you can sleep outside with the horses.”

With great effort, Jon heaves a sigh, “fine.” There will be less spectators in the stables anyway. A horse wouldn’t recall him as a king.

He hands over the coppers and as he turns to leave he can hear the old lady curse, “now go on you lousy cheat!”

What is he supposed to do, starve himself to look convincingly poor? He’s dressed in plain robes of black, yes, his blade is a fine one but he’d lose a hand before he left it behind. It can’t be impossible for a common traveler to have at least one prized possession. He doesn’t have to come off as impoverished, a well off sell sword would do.

But well off sell swords would be expected to pay well for shelter and meals. Traveling under the night sky, Jon takes the reins to his horse and leads the way down the path to the stables. His mind traveling down its own path as he perfects his guise and backstory.

A sellsword…he’d be a bloody good one. If he does manage to burn through his coin he could take jobs for a certain fee. He could self sustain himself, something he’s never done– never had to do.

Counting on no one but himself has an appeal that Jon can’t stop thinking about, even though he was born to watch over the realm he hardly knows what it means just to fend for himself in this world. He enters the stables and sees where he’ll have to spend his night. He ties his horse to a post beside a little shaggy pony roughly the size of what Ghost would be as a growing direwolf. It’s coat is unkempt and as soon as he sees Jon he squeals and bucks around. Ignoring him Jon kicks around, there is nothing but some dust and hay on the packed dirt floor.

But it’s dust and hay that he has resourced himself, Jon has hopes that he’ll make better decisions in the future. Every opportunity can be a lesson.

He unties his belt and sword and sets them against the stall wall as he rest beside it to sleep. The night chill was cold and the distant noise of drunks and horses were not the ones he was used to.

Sleep was hard to come by but when streaming sunlight woke him, he found it was even harder to wake. Fatigue wore heavy on him, and it was only the beginning of his journey.

Jon stretches himself out, the sooner he can leave this place the better. Reaching to his side for his things, his hand brushes against nothing but dust and hay. Doing more than the sun, seeing his sword gone Jon jumps up to his feet, his heart deathly still in his chest.

 _Everything_! That belt was everything he had! His sword, his coin, _his sword!_  Pacing the stables Jon find his horse to be missing as well. “Bloody thieves.” He says dejectedly to the only stunted pony left in the barn.

The animal huffs, his beady eyes shining black at him. “The audacity,” Jon mutters, “to leave a prized stallion such as yourself.”

Jon walks out the stables into the blinding daylight rubbing his eyes and contemplating if it was too late to return home when he gets sacked.

“Ghost!” The Wolf knocks him to the ground, Jon’s headache intensifies tenfold. “Get off!” Wrestling with the fur giant was useless. Ghost sticks his nose into Jon’s cheek and licks.

Jon let himself be buried by his huge wolf and sighs as his hand comes up to pat his side. “You idiot.” A direwolf would be great sport for hunters. A challenge many would take on if it meant glory and Jon couldn’t think of a fiercer trophy than the head of a direwolf.

Jon brushes the dust off his shoulders as he gets up only to be sacked again. “Ow!”

Mousy brown hair tickles his nose, little hands press against his chest.

“Jon, get up,” Arya’s voice is urgent and quiet.

“What?” Jon tries to catch her but she is already fumbling back up on her feet, and in shock at seeing her face he follows her quick steps.

Her eyes were wide and red drips from her nose. “You’re bleeding.”

She wipes her face with her dirty sleeve, making everything worse. The blood smeared across her face and dirt smudged her cheek. “Will you stop and explain–“

“Would you shut up!” She whips back to him and picks up her pace toward the woods. Ghost and Nymeria trot ahead for the cover of the trees.

“How did you find me?” He yells after her.

“Not important right now!” She says and still refuses to face him.

Finally in the woods, Jon is tired of watching the back of her head bob around while he is following her like some sheep. He catches up and takes her hand to stop her.

“You need to go back to your father.” He scolds and Arya scrunches her nose, unimpressed.

“Why should I listen to a coward king.”

“I’m no coward.”

“Then why are you running? Only cowards run.”

“I’m not running!” Jon’s eyes brighten with anger. “If I stayed it would have been for the realm and I don’t give a damn about that. I care about my family and Daenerys is all I have left. She’s–“ Jon stops himself.

She’s been everything to him, a sister, a mother, a friend, a lover… she’s been everything he ever needed, and if he could get to her his life may fall back into place. Things will become clear, he will be able to breath again. Arya can’t begin to understand, she’s just a girl.

Arya’s brows slant. “You’re not a coward, you’re lost.” She says with sympathy to Jon’s dismay.

“I won’t be for long.” He says with certainty.

The snap of a stick echoes through the wood and Arya flinches. “Get down.” She ducks and drags Jon down with her.

“What is it?”

“Shush!” She says rudely in his ear.

A man comes wandering near the bush where they were hiding. Jon noticed the glint shining off of his hip and saw his sword. “Hey,” he leaned to whisper, “that’s mine.”

“I know.” Arya says with her short fuse dwindling, her eyes are trained on the thief. “I heard him talking about you, gloating about his crimes like an idiot.”

Jon stares at Arya, at her cracked nose. She feels his eyes and rolls her shoulders like their tight quarters have suddenly made her uncomfortable.

“I tried to get your stuff back.” She says stiffly and with her gaze pinned to the ground. “Now we are both in trouble if he finds us.”

Her face goes violently red, it does that whenever she feels she’s done something wrong. A strong mix of anger and shame, Jon knows it from sparring with her.

“I’ve made it all worse.” She admits lowly.

Jon covers her with his arm when the thief gets a little too close to their hiding spot. Both hold their breath until the coast is clear.

“It fine.” Jon says after a while, getting to his feet, pulling up his hood, and seeing Ghost come to his side from where ever he took refuge. “I have to travel in hiding anyway.”

“No! You’re going back to your castle, my father is in trouble because of you.”

Guilt comes in the form of Ned Stark's tortured face in Jon’s mind. It was easy to see he hated being Hand. The meetings, the people, the responsibility. Lord Eddard takes it all seriously and that wears on a person.

“Your father is capable, he cares more than I ever could.”

“He cares about people, his people especially and you’re going to make him stay in some southron court he doesn’t belong in! You can’t shove your burdens on him!”

“Then let Viserys be king, I don’t care. It’s all he’s ever wanted anyway.”

“No!” Arya’s face contorts with disgust as Nymeria comes to her heel. She takes out needle and sticks Jon with the pointy end.

“Hey!” He steps back, “that’s not a toy!”

“Good, I’m not playing.”

“Arya.” He wants to be angry with her stubbornness, but her nose… the blood streaming from it has dried but it’s starting to bruise. “Will you go so you can get a healer to look at that.”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Her bright eyes make it easy to catch her lies.

“If you don’t it will be crooked forever and ruin your pretty face.”

“my face has never been pretty.” She says too defensively and it makes Jon wince. Her frown trembles just before she sheaths her blade. “Fine. You go to Princess Daenerys. I will go to Robb and he’ll send you back anyway.”

Jon snorts. “He’s a lord, not even, an heir. He has no right to give me orders.”

“We’ll See about that.” Arya defiantly turns and heads north with Nymeria in her shadow.

“Shall we see who reaches Winterfell first then?” Jon yells after her.

“Aye, you might not want to be too far behind. I’ve got the sword.”

Jon rolls his eyes. Ghost takes a cautious step forward then looks back to Jon who waves his arm. “Fine.” He says and walks his slow (not so lonely) journey north.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on [my tumblr](https://daeyton.tumblr.com/) if you want want another way to reach me, warning tho, it is not an aesthetic blog lmaoo its filled with my dumb interests and art _(:3 」∠)_


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a storm over Winterfell

Robb’s seen dark days before, but none have felt so eerie.

After Winterfell’s intruder attacked Aegon is when the clouds turned black and the snow began to fall in thick tufts. It was like the castle had gone into mourning. Like it knew Robb had let the grand fortress down. This wasn’t some crime in a Winter Town brothel, this was in his home, within the walls where his family slept and ate and played with unburdened minds.

The castle mourned for Lord Eddard to return. In the past, when Robb was a boy, the weather had gone crisp cold and the days turned into long nights and in all that despair Ned was the light. The hope that all would be well.

The storm rages on with or without Ned, Robb can hear it beat against the walls of his chambers, but he’s warm in bed. All the comfort in the world except for peace of mind. He lays awake, idly thumbing the curve of Daenerys’ forehead at his chest. Her breath is heavy with sleep against his skin and Robb feels he can never let go of her. 

The strongest walls of all seven kingdoms and under Robb’s watch a clumsy assassin slips through. He’s ran it through his head many times while hearing the ambient wind outside, someone wants Aegon dead, someone has his father believing he already is.

Robb mentally notes all of the things he has to put into words for his father. There’s too much, and his father would be none too proud of him. Lord Eddard busy in King’s Landing and Winterfell decides to weep with snow and wind at Robb’s reign of ruin in the north. In his own home he feels a traitor for his shortcomings, that he’s being rejected as Lord. He can only imagine what his father would think once he gets word…

A nose skims over his collarbone, the slightest shift upward and Daenerys is pressing her lips into his neck. Robb squirms a moment, unsure if she is awake or not until she says, “you’re still here.”

“Aye.” He’s not used to laying with her either. If he isn’t spending the night in his solar he’s on the edge of the bed’s feather ticking, farthest away from any heat Daenerys can give. But he put that cloak over her shoulders in that sept with the promise of protection, he’d be here for her now. He owes her that much. There’s no more room for southern games, not when winter is taking hold.

He smooths a hand over a budding bruise on her shoulder and her body stretches awake in his arms. “I’m glad.” Her voice is left hoarse, the roughness a reminder of what she had to endure sends a pain in Robb’s chest.

“Aye…” He says a bit softer and closes his eyes because one of her legs finds it comfortable to be between his. He bristles through the pleasure it brings, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and this jaw tightens as he waits for her to still.

All through the night he’s chewed the inside of his cheeks raw trying to ignore her languid movements beneath the furs, trying not to heal every mark he sees on her skin with a kiss.

“Will the sun rise today?”

“I think not.” There is no point in offering false hopes, the storm won’t let up enough for the skies to clear of the current gloom.

“I miss it.” Daenerys pouts and it’s near childlike, a rare separation of the usual courtly decorum she prides herself in having, and for such a small worry to have amongst everything else going on.

“Me too.” He’d fetch the sun, grab every star in the sky if it meant her happiness. And once he admits this to himself there really is no going back.

She’s awake, safe from any nightmare, but he’s still tangled with her under furs. The promise he made himself of only staying to watch over her being thrown to the wayside.

Now he finds himself leaning down to bump the side of her head with his, pushing in with his cheek in a rough, affectionate caress. It’s a tendency Grey Wind has when he wants to be pet. Robb stops once he makes that connection, but Daenerys has been responsive, her fingers come to snarl in his hair so he can’t pull back anymore.

What's done is done. If there is a trap or a game, he’s already in it, and he’s done it to himself.

“I’m sorry.” He gives in and nuzzles again, the light scent of lavender from her hair tickles his nose. She may be clean and bathed, but it doesn’t wash the vision of finding her in a puddle of blood from his mind. It took entirely too long for him to see that the blood wasn’t hers, but from a stranger already dead.

In his arms, she feels impossibly safe, she’s slight enough where his arms can encircle her body like a shield with ease. So slight and warm and gentle, he can’t imagine anyone trying to hurt such a girl.

Daenerys keeps close and brushes her nose into his cheek, “there is nothing there for me to forgive. Aegon is well, better already now he’s not being kept sick with tampered drink.” She says it all too gently for heart’s safety. Being so near, Robb stares at her lips as his own part in nonbelief. Pink and pillowy, those lips take his mind down paths too treacherous for his liking.

Robb can feel heartstrings in his chest being pulled taut like a bow. Theon would laugh how easily he can be brought to heel by a girl, but Robb has yet to find a wonder greater than a woman. Specifically this one, fire made flesh, they don’t speak of it but it hardly leaves his mind. How she’s unable to burn.

Even when he found her and Aegon, her dress drenched in blood and ash, half the hearth was thrown out onto the floor and the attacker’s robes seared with embers. He may have been bludgeoned to death from a dragon egg as good as stone, but Daenerys, this gentle girl in Robb’s arms, fought.

And Robb never wants her to have need to do it again. “Grey Wind will stay with you.”

The haze of sleep and comfort leave her face. “Then where will you be?”

Her concern startles him, he hadn’t expected it. “Not far.”

“Better not. You were just starting to be tolerable.”

A welcome smile blooms on her lips and Robb constraints himself enough to press his just to her forehead. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I haven’t.” Daenerys’ jape fades into something real, her voice nothing but a mere breath. “Have you?”

Robb suppresses a sigh, Daenerys‘s full on gaze on him as if he is to give his answer, which he won’t. He already fell too easily into comforts he wished for long ago. They very well may be false comforts, but he’s fallen nonetheless.

Leaving her answer to be desired, Robb tears himself away to dress. “Go to Aegon’s room when you and you ladies have readied, it will be the safest there.”

—

The storm is just as strong as the day it began. Heavy white tufts cloud the air and blanket Winterfell in thick drifts. As unpleasant the cold is, it is rewarding to finally be out of the solar.

Robb exhales a cloud of fog and walks the grounds, his cloak hanging heavily over his shoulders and skirting the snow covered path. The air in the courtyard is still and somber though the day’s routine continues like any other.

Through the darkness Robb spots a bit of color. Red, the vibrant strands of his sister’s hair blow in the snow. Daenerys isn’t the only one he has being closely watched over. Sansa’s being escorted by Theon, her elbow linked like a chain to his. He has every guard and Grey Wind on duty while Winterfell’s investigation is underway.

“M’lady is on the mend I hope.” Ser Rodrick Cassel says at his side.

“Aye, she’s well” Robb says, it is known Daenerys has been left with a scattered bruises and small hurts, but he’s been careful not to mention the dug out hearth. What was a real trick was convincing Maester Luwin that the intruder’s burns were from a fallen brazier.

Stopping by the gates, Robb straightens, his features cold as iron as a lord’s should be when handling important matters. “Take this straight to my father.” Robb hands Ser Rodrick his sealed letter. “Trust no hand of any servants or guards.”

Rodrick, old as he may be with his white whiskers, still has golden muscle memory shown when he effortlessly jumps onto his horse. “Aye.” He says with a loyal nod and Robb sees him off, watches as his black horse trots out the gate and disappears into the grey.

Ser Rodrick will be slower than sending a raven, but there couldn’t be anything more reliable. In that parchment there is nothing but some wax and ink, but to Robb it felt heavy with the weight of Winterfell’s walls.

He burdened that parchment with the truth of Aegon and Winterfell’s intruder and even some of his own personal worries. Robb never appeared or voiced his concern, but all he wanted was his father back. No one could guide or teach or council quite like Ned Stark could.

But he wasn’t here, he wasn’t going to be for a long time. Not while Jon roams carelessly over the realm. The heat of Robb’s own resentment builds up in his bones as it did when he was forced to leave Dragonstone without his father. When he returned home to his mother with the unfortunate news that Lord Eddard now lies his duties with the king.

Robb had gone blind with hate then, angry even with his own father, now he’d do anything just to see his face again. He hates him as much as misses him.

“Come with me Jory,” he asks the captain of his guard who was studying the closing gates after his father. “I’d like to check something.”

—

“We should start back, my Lord,” Jory Cassel urges behind Robb. Wind and snow drowns his raspy voice that begs for the return of castle walls. “There’s more than just wolves in these woods.”

Robb’s gaze lingers ahead on the darkening path he has yet to take. Winterfell’s intruder may be dead, but that does not mean the threat is dealt with. “A little further.” He taps his horse with his heels to spur ahead, neither the dark or storm will deter him.

There's reluctance in Jory’s silence, but he follows along regardless. The castle guard is standing at all hours of the day, investigation of Aegon’s old sick room is underway, residents at the Winter Town inn are being watched and questioned, Robb has done all he can yet no one knows why Aegon, a man of the night’s watch, is being targeted.

Out in the wolfswood, Robb searches, cold filling his lungs and the scent of pine on his tongue, looking for a hint of enemy tracks. He knows the countless paths and tunnels that vein complexity through Winterfell. As a boy he loved exploring his home and the thrill of finding a secret within the ancient walls, now it makes him paranoid. Were there holes he did not know of? Weakness in his own armor that he could not see? All the thoughts of doubt has Robb rethinking what he knows and he wouldn’t rest until he inspects the full perimeter of his grounds.

He could order someone else to do it, but no one knows Winterfell quite like a Stark. They wouldn’t know what to look for, what notches in the ground to see, what knotted tree roots run deeper than they seem into the ground and lead back to the dungeons. They don’t know the signs of the land that old Brandon Stark of legend built, Robb learned that language long ago. It’s a language no outsider is clever enough to know, yet Robb has his doubts of the secret passages now.

“My lord,” Robb halts his horse, not bothering for the sword at his hip when he sees what has Jory beckoning him backward.

Curious, Robb jumps from his horse and can distantly hear Jory do the same behind. He does not draw his blade because there is no need. Dead is dead, and Robb doesn’t see the body on the ground flinch when he approaches, the skin is gaunt over the bone of the skull.

Wrapped in a bundle of thick patchy furs, this person had known the harsh north. Jory is on Robb’s heels while he reaches to inspect a swaddled pelt clutched in dead arms.

Hands jump at Robb, cling to his cloak and the force stuns him and he falls over, the shaken grip still tight on his clothes. Jory wordlessly fights to get his lordling back on his feet, save for a few grunts of effort, and once back on their own footing Jory unsheathes his sword.

Robb’s hand goes to his hilt, pausing only to look closer at what he thought of as dead, sits up. Not like anyone he’d ever seen, eyes were wide set and posture curved from travel. Skin wrapped tight over bone, but there was an undeniable softness to her face that was unmistakably that of a woman’s. Her greedy hands find purchase on the parcel Robb had wanted. She holds it to her chest and strokes the pelt.

Jory throws himself before Robb in an attempt of performing some heroics. “put down your blade.” He orders and for once Jory does not comply.

“A wildling, my lord. Far too south to be given mercy.”

Robb stares at the woman once more, he’s fought wildlings before, but none he’s killed were scavenger women. “What is that.” He nods to the bundle in her mittened hands and she begins to shake with fright, babbling words he cannot understand.

Her body is weak from hunger, Robb realizes she hasn’t the strength to stand and run, her only defense was to play dead and that’s failed her. Robb pushes Jory aside to ease her anxieties and outstretches his hand. “May I?” He requests and is thoroughly denied when she begins to scream her foreign words into the wood, inspiring the howls of nearby wolves.

“My lord!” Jory begs for a retreat and Robb loses patience. He wretches the parcel from her, even as he’s stealing it away she’s craning her neck to desperately press kisses to her last possession.

As soon as he has it Robb tears it open. A sickness spreads in his stomach when he holds a detached rotted arm. The broken skin around the bared bone, near the elbow, soft and sagging like the skin over a cooled pudding. Robb drops the arm and the woman clamors for it like it were gold.

“Give me the order!” Jory shouts eagerly waving his sword. “She’s a cannibal, wipe the world clean of her filth!”

But she’s starving. Her lips find the rotten grey flesh and nuzzles it as if it were a lost lover. “Leave her.” He says to Jory and climbs onto his horse. He desperately wishes for home, now feeling regret that he didn’t head back earlier.

“My lord, think of what the right thing is to do.” Jory keeps to the ground. “This is your land!”

Robb swallows thickly and forces himself to look at the mourning woman, he may not understand a word she says but he knows pain when he sees it. “Someone killed that man.” He says to Jory who now looks lost. “She did not.”

“She’s a cannibal, my lord, she eats men.” Jory informs condescendingly to Robb’s displeasure. “Why else would she cling to it so?”

And the gods give Jory his answer. Robb’s eyes deceive him when he sees the grey wrist rotate in total by itself. Jory drops his sword in fright and falls backward into a bank of snow and now his earlier words haunt Robb.

Think of what the right thing is to do. His boots crunch back on the snow as he leaves his horse and withdraws his sword. He cannot have this evil by his home.

The woman shields the abomination of a severed arm with her body, even if it’s haunted fingers are tearing gashes into her cheeks.

Robb trembles in his back swing, but follows through in strength. The snow below bleeds red and Robb prays for that to be the end of it. The wildling dies swiftly, without pain, without a single scream. Robb stares at the severed arm, that is now in two, it lay still. Dead, as it should be.

“Come, Jory,” Robb tells his head of guard who trips over his own step.

“Black magic…” Robb hears Jory shudder and his thoughts roam to Daenerys.

”speak of this to no one.”

Jory nods in understanding.

They make a quick jaunt to the front gates and Robb wastes no time with handing his horse off to the stable boy, instead he leaps off already in journey to the west wing where Aegon’s new room is. He desperately wants to see Daenerys, tell her what he’s seen. Robb is only able to be stopped by his sister.

“Sansa,” He halts in surprise as she stands in front of him, her hands warm in her sleeves and Theon over her shoulder. She is a wonderful sight to see, even if Robb is in a hurry and her brow twists in worry.

“You have blood on your face.” Her gloved Hand appears and wipes down his cheek.

Robb impatiently pulls her wrist away and hugs her. “You’ve been out in the cold for too long, Head back inside.” He tells her ear, keeping the haunts in the woods to himself. No one would believe what he saw even if he is acting Lord, no one but Daenerys. Together they’ve seen impossible things before… she is an impossible thing.

“I wish to stay, at least until I see Princess Daenerys has returned.”

“Returned?” Robb’s Head begins to ache. Aegon, he told her to stay with Aegon. “Where has she gone?” He says in a contained panic.

“In the godswood to pray.”

“ _To pray_?” About as likely as it is for the sun to rise in the east. Without further issue, Robb takes for the godswood. His temper leading his march.

The scene he witnesses is angelic, peaceful even during a heavy snowfall. Daenerys in her winter furs kneeling by the hot spring near the heart tree. Grey Wind even curls up on the bank, his head only perks when he sees Robb.

“Was I not clear?” He startles a few ravens who flee from the tree tops.

Daenerys snaps her head back, her eyes apologetic upon hearing the distress in his voice.

Robb strides to her, about to continue his lecture until he sees a dragon egg at Daenerys’ side and one in her hands. She slowly leans forward, dunking the black egg into black water, making it disappear before she brings it back up, hot and steaming.

“What is this?” Robb asks, Jory’s black magic comment at the forefront of his mind.

She hasn’t the decency to look even half guilty. “Warming them.” She bears affection when regarding her ancestral trophies.

“Why couldn’t you just do what I say–“ she doesn’t stop crooning over the egg to listen, “they’re petrified, Daenerys.” Robb scolds to gain her attention, “they don’t need warming, they’re no more alive than stone.”

“I don’t think so.” She dips the egg back down, her sleeves getting soaked in the process, but of course the water doesn’t burn her. “The spring is hot and I think they like it better than fire.”

_They_. Robb looks to the other on the ground. Pale cream, it’s not one he recognizes that was given to her. “This isn’t yours.” He nudges it with his foot. “Aegon’s, I remember it from King’s Landing.”

“Aegon doesn’t mind.” Daenerys answers along with the trickle of water that drips from her sleeves as she pulls the egg back up and sets it down with the other one. “He understands.” 

“What do you think you’re doing, trying to hatch them?”

“And why not?” Daenerys draws herself up to her full height. “Everyone is so quick to dismiss them as stone, they’re not stone.”

“Stop being stubborn, they’re not hatching. Whatever life was in there is dead by now–“ Robb freezes, what seems dead may not always be, and he feels the urge to confide what he saw in the woods.

Two heavy plops, Robb’s gaze drops to the spring’s side, the two eggs now gone. Daenerys is already at the ledge fishing for them but they’re too deep. If Robb doesn’t pull her back she’d dunk herself in there and he doesn’t want to deal with that again.

“Come on,” he grabs her by the waist and wrestles her back until she squirms hard enough to send him backward. He hugs her in tight so she can’t get up but it doesn’t stop her from twisting and turning around to face him. “I have to get them back.”

Robb flips them over so he can pin her securely to the ground, hands clasped over her wrists the keep them at her sides. “You will, later. Wait until this storm passes.”

He expects a snappy retort because when has she ever listened to a thing he’s said, but her eyes drop to a near close. Heavy lidded, but not heavy headed. Daenerys leans herself up, her face impossibly close. He doesn’t realize how heavy he’s breathing or how parted his lips are until she closes hers around his top lip.

The involuntary lean for him to get closer is slight but that doesn’t make it any less pathetic. She rests her head back down and Robb follows her, not wanting to part so soon.

His forehead bumps hers, the dull edges of her teeth come down to brush his lower lip, and everything is so easily forgotten except for his desire to kiss those pink lips.  

At that moment a pronounced cough burns Robb’s ears. Done more out of irritation than throat clearing, it’s the sound of pure disapproval and he knows it well from boyhood.

It takes effort to pull away, but he does it so fast, like being pulled from a string attached to his back. Robb rushes to his feet and pulls Daenerys up before looking at his mother.

Standing with a stick straight spine and upheld chin, she eyes her eldest unfavorably. She doesn’t need to speak, Robb knows to be ashamed.

“Mother–“

“Ought to head back for dinner before either of you catch a chill.” She says with a startling firm voice.

Without question they follow her back to the castle. Their conversation, or whatever that was, put on hold. Robb hangs onto his secret from the Wolfswood and Daenerys must abandon her eggs without another fighting word.

Dinner with his family that night was silent and awful, even if Sansa did try to save it with small pleasantry talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Because I don’t trust my writing) here’s some clarification on what happened in the wolfswood, it was a wildling woman on the run to go south, the arm was from her mate who got killed and turned into a wight, obviously she only had the arm to remember him by. 
> 
> Wildlings may not be sentimental, but this one was lol


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it gets tough remember what Meera Reed said, love and hate are two sides of the same coin.

The inconsolable throbbing between her eyes wears on her more than travel does.

With nerve-shock shaken fingers Arya would occasionally feel her nose. Feel where the skin split and the coarseness where her blood dried in little droplets. It hurt.

“It had to be done.” Jon’s voice comes from behind. Arya doesn’t let the voice lead her eyes back, only ahead where there are roves of cattle grazing.

Arya sucks her tears in before they fall. “Yeah.” She says, the cold in her voice made her shiver. It’s the travel, she tells herself. Sick for home and sick for her father, she’s trapped in between and without a bite to eat.

Jon spent gold on her. To a healer he didn’t know from a village she could not tell apart from the other small smatterings of lodgings to break her nose again.

“It had to be set right.” He says as if he knows the bitter complaints going through her mind.

“I heard you the first one hundred times.” No one ever cared so much about her face, not even Arya herself. She could’ve lived with a crooked nose, the pain was nothing then, but being cracked a second time after it had already healed some… _it hurt_.

“It’s not just for looks.” He explains with a heavy breath, they’ve been on a steady incline for days it feels like, Arya just now has air on her heels. The ground shifts and she notices that they’re finally on the top of this (seemingly) never ending hill.

“It could’ve hindered your breathing, made you snore at night, and– various other things...” Jon continues but Arya has already doubled pace. Taking fast, and for once easy steps down the slope they conquered.

“I see the God’s Eye!” A circle swamp of water, Arya knows this landmark, for once she knows! They’re in the Riverlands. “Up ahead is Harrenhal!” She’s seen the battlements of the charred castle from the kingsroad when she was traveling with Robb and her father. That seems a lifetime ago. What she would give to be comfortable on the road like she was then.

“I’ve been here before.” The closeness of his voice makes Arya jump, she didn’t realize Jon caught up with her. “When I visited Riverrun, it was my thirteenth year and my father wanted to stop and make camp here.”

Arya purses her lips, if Jon was making castle visits, why never Winterfell?

“He never said, but he held a great fondness for this place.”

It’s obvious. Harrenhal is where Rhaegar first saw Lyanna, but Arya keeps silent. Jon never knew his mother and mentioning her now… Arya doesn’t think it wise. She wouldn’t mention her Aunt Lyanna in front of her father and she won’t mention her now.

“If we make it to the trident before nightfall we can rest easy, there’s the inn at the crossroads.” Arya remembers when she and Robb stayed there. He stayed with her when their Lord father left to drink with the bannermen. Robb should have gone with, but he didn’t.

“We’re not staying at that inn, we can’t.” Jon, as ominous as he can be, throws the hood of his cloak over head.

“I forgot, you’re my precious cargo.” The promise of a soft bed and food relapsed her judgment. There is a new pain blooming in Arya that isn’t just her nose, hunger. Roaming over all of this farmland and she’s not had one crumb of bread to eat for days. “But perhaps you could give me the purse and I can go get food? You’d stay out of sight in the meantime.”

“Leave you to be robbed? I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”

“The riverlands are a nice place–“

“Nice place?” Jon muses her words back to himself. “Wars get started here, just look at Harrenhal. It’s a black smoldering beacon of misery. The riverlands rot in the center of the kingdoms.”

Arya bites her cheek before she snaps. Her mother hails from the Tully great house and Robb was born in these lands. “I’ve heard the Riverlands are the beating heart of the seven kingdoms. If it’s rotting it’s because of our king.”

Jon’s sharp gaze points to the bank of the God’s Eye and away from Arya. He probably can’t stand the sight of her anymore than she can of him, but Arya keeps her eyes pinned in him like needles now. Watching him squirm. 

“Are you feeling it?”

“What?” He seethes into the horizon like a dragon blowing steam from his nose.

“Shame.” She hopes he does. She wants it to eat up at him until he can’t stand it anymore. “You left everything. Maybe it was easy for you to do, but it wasn’t right.” Arya bleeds for her father. She’d left him just as Jon left his reign. Shame has surely been eating her alive.

She deserves the throb between her eyes.

Jon’s head drops from the view to the patchy grass below in a simper, “I do,” whispers. “I’ve been telling myself that this was all justified. In truth– in the hardest of truths, Aegon’s life was lost to me when he made his vows, and Daenerys when she made hers.”

A trickle of pity runs down Arya’s spine, she can see in fellow grey eyes that Jon can’t let them go. He knows they’re lost to him, but he won’t let them be.

When it comes to her own family,l Arya would do anything for them– even Sansa. She aches for them all to be with her right now, in this moment.

But they’re not. “Come on,” She nudges Jon forward. “Let’s forget about making it to the crossroads, camping here will do.” Arya’s stomach growls in protest at her words, but even Arya underfoot is too weary to carry on much further.

Settled on the southern bank, Jon fusses with the start of a cook fire. He’s bad at it so Arya helps him set the twigs and dry grass just right so it can catch afire when he strikes the flint.

Arya’s stomach screams at her. “What are we going to eat?” She asks helpless. She’s never been successful in hunting and she doubts Jon can catch anything without a hunting party at his back.

“I’ll find something, give me your sword.”

“No.”

“Then starve us both.”

Fully irritated, Arya stands to unbelt her sword and throws it at Jon’s feet. She turns heel so fast she can’t even see him pick it up. Marching off alone into the shallow marsh for some solitude, she cries to herself.

So full of doubt and frustrations, there’s no other way than to let it spill out. She doesn’t want to regret following Jon, but it’s seeping in. He’s family and loyalty isn’t optional! If he is lost it is Arya’s job to find him. She has a duty just like her father and Robb do. It’s of a different kind, but no less important.

Arya jumps, the water splashes under her feet when a hand settles over her shoulder. She escapes the grasp to turn, meeting Jon. He’s bathed in the red light of the setting sun. “Arya?”

“What?” The Others take him, Arya curses and quickly wipes her cheeks down with her sleeve. He isn’t holding needle, it must still be laying in the dirt.

“I never asked you to come after me. You did it on your own.”

There's a pang in Arya’s chest. “Yes.”

“Why did you do it?” His words laced with distress and Arya wants to sink way deep down into the God’s Eye to escape him. Become the bog woman Sansa always insisted she was.

“I don’t know, why did you kiss me?” The pestering question leaves Arya’s lips too fast to be stopped. Her lungs feel as empty as her stomach. She never meant to say it. Her filter is crushed by tiredness.

The silence from Jon is deafening and Arya snarls at it. “Go find food before we die.” She spits.

Jon’s face is unchanged, a pinch between his brows and his mouth pulled into a grimace. Arya cannot stand him anymore, she lacks the strength to.

Too quickly scenarios of escape race through her, when Jon lays to sleep she could steal the coin purse and leave. Sneak away to the inn at the crossroads for a bite to eat and a bed to sleep in. It’s what she desired most.

“I kissed you most likely for the same reason you came after me,” Jon takes a breath, his eyes frantically searching for something in the distance before they reel back in on Arya. “I care about you, and we are partners. Are we not?”

Arya frowns and Jon takes a step closer and holds out his hand. “I admit it.” He whispers. “I admit I was wrong and this is stupid. I've made us food for the crows, if I can’t look out for you there is no hope for the realm. I don’t know what I’m doing. If I could take you back, I would! I would carry you so your feet wouldn’t have to suffer one more step.”

His remorse all points toward Arya and she can’t help but see how glaring it is that if she hadn’t found him he’d be dead, whether that’s what he planned or not, Arya doesn’t want to dwell her thoughts on it.

Somehow her voice comes out even, “You’ll be a fine king if you’re willing to learn, yeah? That’s all this is Jon. It’s a lesson, a bloody foolish one, but it’s not without a good heart.”

“Wrong,” Jon pulls himself tight as a bow string with fists at his sides, “I was so welled with anger that night. I’m not sure what dragged me from the Red Keep, mourning Aegon with my only other- _sister_ , or the urge to kill the man who’d done it. Be it Robb Stark or not.”

She really lacked strength. Arya whirls around, taking in the red-orange skies wreathed with green tree tops. It was better than looking at his stupid face. “I hate you.” She says into the humid air. Nothing but frogs and crickets reply to her and it makes her face heat up and twist.

“I came to get you!” _To help you kill my brother_ , she wants to scratch her eyes out to stop the tears.

“I was never going to do it. It just– the thought seeped into my dreams and it felt good to think about it, to feel an illusion of revenge.”

“Revenge!” Arya whirls back around and stabs a finger into Jon’s chest. “Robb did what was right! If he made special exceptions to the rules our family has followed for centuries you wouldn’t trust him. You’d pitch a fit about him like you always do!”

“I don’t pitch fits.”

“You pout as much as my youngest brother, and he’s six.”

“I have a bit more on my mind than a boy of six.”

“You have a lot more fear than him too. You’re so full of it it makes you run at the slightest excuse. It makes you think and act without honor. With your princely upbringing it should’ve set that in you straight away.”

Arya soaks in as much of the chill as she can from the incoming breeze until she can feel it in her bones. It’s not enough, but it does remind her of home. Back where the summer snow drifts would reach ten feet and Arya could create her own version of the castle's secret passages by burrowing in the snow. She was safe there, she was home and betrayal was not a thing so heavy on her mind.

“I already said I’d never do it, it was no more than a thought. At sunrise we’ll make way back to King’s Landing and forget this whole mistake.”

“No we won’t!” Jon’s fog laden gaze challenges Arya’s in defiance at her words and it makes her lean closer and stand taller. “We will make it to Winterfell and we will _deal_ with this.”

She doesn’t know why she says it, even as she takes a breath and rests back on her heels she feels exhausted. Not strong enough to back all her talk, but the easy way is seldom the right way. In Arya’s cold grown bones she knows Robb and Jon must fix whatever is broken between them. It must truly be fixed too, a simple patch up won’t do.

“We aren’t making it to Winterfell, we never were! We’ll die if we’re not found out first.”

“We’ll make it if we take care of eachother.”

Arya steps back to their small camp and after a long time of quiet Jon follows, the meager fire looks like a spark on the ground and Jon bends to tend to it. “Take your boots off.”

Arya raises a brow and Jon looks up to her, no sense of animosity clouding his eyes like it did before. Arya decides to set her anger aside as well. It steals too much energy from her. “You’ve been walking all day and you just got them soggy in the swamp. Take them off.”

With a scoff Arya throws one leg up to her chest to tug a boot off. She always had the bad habit of never loosening the laces, she’d just work extra hard shoving them on and yanking them off.

Jon notices the struggle. “You’re a mess.”

“Worry about not smothering the fire, will you?”

Jon cracks the first smile of the night, and it’s not long until Nymeria and Ghost appear with small rabbit game that Arya cracks the second.

 

Filling her stomach made Arya see how brazen she had been. She even had the thought to abandon Jon, to leave him without a single copper. She’s thankful that she didn’t act on that foolish impulse, the thought alone made her feel guilty.

She took heaping bites of the cooked rabbit but Jon picked at his sparingly. “It’s cooked all the way.” Arya assures through a mouthful.

“Good to know.” Jon mumbles and takes a neat conservative bite. “But I guessed that on my own, given that it’s burnt black.”

Arya shrugs, too satisfied to care. Food was in her belly and her bare feet were dry and warm by the fire. After a full day of walking uphill it felt good to just sit and eat.

“You believe me, right? I wouldn’t kill my cousin, no matter how much a stranger he is to me.”

A dull ache surfaces and Arya feels the broken skin on the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “I believe you.” She mutters into her hand but she can still feel Jon’s eyes on her. “I’ve had awful thoughts go through my head once or twice too.”  
  
“Like?”

Arya scoffs at that and throws her rusack on her lap to dig for parchment, bottled ink, and a stick of wax.

“What’s all that?”

“I’ve been carrying it around for ages, I’m going to finally use it to warn Robb we are coming.” Jon has a dissatisfied look on his face. “I’ll tell him I went with you on my own.” Arya stares at the leafs of parchments in her hand and files out two of them. “I’ll write my father as well, I don’t want him worrying about me.” Arya sinks in the grass at the thought of her father alone at a black and red ornate desk wondering if his daughter is breathing or not.

If he’s getting out parchments just like she is to write to mother, what would he say to her if anything at all? Fatigue is quick to grip her into its clutches once again.

“There’s no way for you to send it.” Jon sounds like he’s reasoning with himself more than Arya. “No use in trying without a raven.”

“We’ll find one when we reach the trident if we don’t come across one by then.” There are ravens a plenty at the inn at the crossroads, perched on fences and begging for corn. One of them would gladly take a letter to Winterfell for a little exchange.

Jon quiets, laying his head back in the bed of grass and lets the crickets and frogs and the crackle of the fire take helm. Arya puts her parchments back with the others and leans into Nymeria’s fur.

“Where’s ghost?”

“Somewhere.” Jon says to the star speckled sky.

“Why’d he leave?”

“How am I supposed to know. He goes where he wants.”

Arya grunts at that and pulls closer to Nymeria. She craves sleep but her nose hurts. Everything hurts.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short but packed with angst angst angst

_ Dearest sister, _

_ I am pleased to hear of your undying spirit and how wonderful you are doing in the dreary north. _

_ Such news should bring me happiness, yet my contentment stalls.  _

_ I worry for your dangerous situation, sweet sister. Everything depends on you, as the wife. You must be willing, put your charms to good use and produce an heir. Our good Hand of the King, Eddard, has noticed no news of you being with child. I see no ill will for you in his eyes but I worry about your place up north.  _

_ Of course I worry for Jon, a shame he had gone fleetingly with no issue, but I hear he and the Stark girl had been seen at Riverrun.  _

_ At least we know he is alive. _

_ With love, Viserys.  _

The parchment had been handled so frequently the creases became so ingrained that they became soft and tore at the edges. Daenerys couldn’t help but fidget with the letter. 

She traced over Viserys’ script, she noticed where he ran out of ink and had to go back and dip his quil. She saw the firm indents particularly over  _ our good hand of the king,  _ she suspected it was a challenge for him to be so kind. 

The letter was of home, yet seeing it made her feel alone. So alone her stomach ached. 

Every line— _no_ , every word was laced with malice. Intended to hurt, and by the gods did they. 

Daenerys folded the letter once more before opening it again. She read it. She wanted to read until it couldn’t hurt her anymore. 

By now the fire needed kindling and the evening meal would be ending. She told Robb she didn’t feel well. He didn’t ask too many questions, but granted her wish to stay in bed. 

This sickness surrounded her. It was in her chest, her body, her mind. She ached for home but this letter poisoned her. It burned her. 

Hadn’t  Viserys other things to think about other than her womb? Had he reminded her of Jon to spite her? To wound her where it would hurt deepest. 

She read the letter again, the sting of it pushed her further down into the bed furs. She’d drown in her sorrows but the snap of the door opening made her whole body tense. 

She’d forgotten what it was like to be bothered by the physical world. 

By the time her eyes snapped to him Robb already had his back turned to her. His shoulders heavy over the basin table as he splashed his face with water. 

Her heart would not lie still. She didn’t want to face him, she didn’t want to be seen or heard. Her heart hammered on, but he wasn’t going anywhere. 

She clutched the furs in tight around her and turned over. The efficient sounds of Robb readying for bed clamored in her ears and it did not help the ringing in her chest. 

She knew his routine, there went the shuffle of his boots off his feet and the rustling of clothes off his body. The foreign crumple of the letter against her chest startled her, it was so close, near her over worked and dying heart. 

Dany shoved it away. Off the edge of the bed where it floated to the floor. It couldn’t hurt her. It was just parchment. Only ink and wax and it was out of her sight. Surly she was stronger than ink and wax.

Robb unknowingly came into view. He was in his robe and stoked and restocked the wood. With fresh crackles and pops, Dany took in the woody scent of the new burning logs. Robb continued on to idiotically open the window. 

He liked it cracked open at night. She did not. The night wind was so biting that it rendered the fire useless. 

“Robb,” her voice was hoarse and difficult for even for her to listen to, “keep the window closed tonight?” 

He turned back half stunned, “I thought you’d be sleeping,” he said and managed to shut the window without arguing. 

It wasn’t long when he went to the other side of the bed and she could feel him sink into the feather ticking. The heat of his body greeted an instant before his touch did. A simple calloused hand over her waist while her feet tangled back with his legs. 

He spooned her, putting up with her cold feet and cold demeanor. Since Aegon’s attack he’s held her every night without fail.

That thought warmed her.

Dany reached for his hand on her waist and brought it to her chest so she could snuggle with his forearm like she did with her dolls when she was young. It brought him closer, his chest covered her back and it was a greater warmth than any blanket or fire. 

“How do you feel.” His voice was so close it rumbled in her ear, his breath was hot and his voice tired. He’d been in meetings all day. She loathed to think it was because he was discussing Jon and Arya Stark.

His palm smoothed over and flattened over her shift in the valley between her breasts and the motion caught her off guard.

“Your heart,” he said with more alarm and held her tighter as if that would stop it’s pounding.

“I know,” she whispered and bit the inside of her cheek. “Have you… has Hoster Tully written?” 

She felt him take a deep breath, “he has, he’s hosting the king.” 

It wasn’t anything new, not really. “What of Arya?” 

“I’m sending a party out to retrieve her. She shouldn’t have been in King's Landing for so long anyway. It’s time for her to come home and stay out of trouble.”

Dany nodded against her pillow, her chin slightly rubbing against Robb’s knuckles. “You’ve missed her.” 

“I’ve missed a lot of things, not unlike you.” Dany’s shoulders crumpled in, she curled in on herself hearing Robb’s voice drenched in sympathy. 

It was not what she expected. It was not what he sounded like, not with her anyway. 

She hugged his arm in close and he allowed it. His chest melded to her back she felt the steady rhythm of his heart, and soon her’s synced with its pace before she fell into darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I’m a little rusty at writing (gee, I wonder why) and I’ve forgotten where tf I was going with this story so hopefully I can improvise well enough that my rustyness isn’t like whiplash hitting you in the face when you read 
> 
> Im sorry for the hiatus and the short chapter. I’m hoping this will jumpstart my writing habits again so I can get back into jotting down long chapters willy nilly


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb is acting strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the warning that this is a multi ship fic, thanks xx
> 
> And special thanks to user bebe217 for kicking me back into writing <3

He should’ve been happy. In days he’d be able to see Arya’s little round face again, even in memory her edges appeared blurred and lost in shadows, all except for her eyes. Those Stark, grey eyes she inherited. He couldn’t wait to see her again— to hear her again. Her letters didn’t come close to filling the hole she left in Winterfell. 

Robb cursed, wishing to be apart of the party retrieving her from Riverrun. He sent Theon in his stead. It feels like a poor substitute, but from all the new faces in Winterfell, Theon would be one Arya knew. Though it would not be the same. 

Theon did not know the line to tow with her, when to stop teasing and start caring. She’d never admit it, but Arya liked a gentle hand at times. She was sentimental and soft, despite her outward efforts to be fierce. Robb worries for the state of her. She is strong but still just as human as he is, and Robb finds himself to be weak on the brink of winter... 

He faces the night sky. On his back in the cold snow so he can stare at the white web of branches on the Heart tree tangle with the black ones of surrounding trees. A wind cuts through every once and a while and shakes a flurry of red leaves through the godswood. 

He stupidly finds himself wondering what the tree thinks of him. Red weeping eyes stare back and Robb’s hand flexes at his side. 

There lay two scaly eggs that fill the crook of his arm. He’d fished them out of the spring with a net he requested Lord Manderly bring with him when he and his retinue arrive for the Harvest Feast.

A distant wolf cry springs a chill up Robb’s spine. He’s felt ill as of late. Not like himself, he feels shared. Like he’s forced to surrender himself to a dark passenger that takes control at night. Could be lordship taking its toll. Without his mother, these past few days he’s felt the inescapable pressure of power. How crushing that is... 

Now his vassals are here, in Winterfell, his castle that he’d let be penetrated. His gripped slipped when Aegon was assaulted and it’s been tiring trying to get it back, let alone trying to ignore the fact that he has this… _passenger_. 

Or perhaps he is the mere passenger. 

The snow crystallizes at night, making the top a thin sheet of ice, Robb can hear the non too graceful crunch of it down the wood. 

He gets up and takes each dragon egg in arm, hiding them under his cloak. 

It’s not long until he sees Daenerys hobble unevenly on unstable ground. She’s clutching onto her cloak as if that would balance her. 

“What are you doing out here?” 

Despite what she’s says, Daenerys is a heavy sleeper, she doesn’t usually wake up when Robb takes his nightly strolls. 

“Getting some air. And you?” 

She pauses a safe distance away, taking the time to straighten herself and clasp her hands in front. “It doesn’t look right. You wandering alone at night.” 

Robb bites the inside of his cheek. It certainly doesn’t, but it is better than surrendering himself to sleep. “You’ve come to march me back to my chambers?” 

She doesn’t respond as well as she usually does to snark. Her head hangs down and the silence is uncomfortable. 

She’s upset, she’s been upset for a long time. Robb has never known how to fix it. “Daenerys,” he calls and even from this distance he can see her face drop, as if he’d strike her. He wishes for that look to go away but it keeps on showing up when he calls her name. “Come here.” He orders. 

She’s not timid and she’s not necessarily willing either. He can see the color under her eyes and it makes him feel the bags he has under his eyes too. She’s exhausted and so is he, but no amount of sleep can help him. 

When she’s a step before him he opens his cloak, baring the the eggs that have began to strain his arms from their weight. 

Daenerys sets her palm down on the black one and takes it, the ghost of a smile hangs between them and that torturous silence vanishes. 

“How did you?”

“Lord Manderly lent me a net from one of his ports.” Robb says easily, his hand slides over her’s on the egg. Their eyes meet and he wonders if this is okay. He’s not been affectionate since his mother and Theon left and his  _ passenger  _ arrived. 

“That was kind,” she says and it could’ve been for Manderly or Robb, either way she doesn’t pull her hand away. 

“You may stop fretting over it now.” His words are filler and she can tell. 

She nods absently, her eyes trained on the egg beneath their hands. She takes in the sharp night air like she can finally breathe again. Her shoulders hang relaxed. 

“What has you up?” He asks. The hard part is usually lulling her into sleep, once she’s out she doesn’t wake until the sun greets her. 

Her hand slips from under his and rises to cup his cheek, her eyes hold something. Fondness, Robb thinks. His Darling Doting Daenerys, he wonders if that’s the facade she’s putting up. A different mask to try on before it slips away. 

Or can it be real. Robb’s too exhausted to tell.

He fights not to lean into her hand, rather he pulls away altogether and ushers her around. “You shouldn’t be walking around.” He says as they journey back to the castle. “It isn’t safe.” 

“I’m just fine.” She sounds bitter. Perhaps that moment didn’t go as she planned. “But you’re not.” She accuses and halts her pace, forcing Robb sto stop along with her.

“My Lady…” It’s Robb’s turn to put up a front, he doesn’t have much fight in him. “I just need a moment—“

“You’ve been leaving at night,” she clutches her egg close to her chest as she scolds him, “since your mother left you’ve been— well I don’t know exactly what it is you go and do, but I know it’s not doing you any favors.” 

Robb can feel the tired creases under his eyes again. He strongly urges her forward again with his hand on her shoulder. “Then let’s go to bed.” Though it won’t help him, at least she will be quiet. 

Daenerys relents and when they arrive in their chambers she doesn’t look at him, instead she takes her dear egg dragon eggs and places them back in the chest beside her side of the bed. It mildly surprises Robb that she’s not placing them on the bed to sleep next to. 

A prettified egg would be more pleasant than he is.

“Dany shakes off her cloak and boots and Robb does the same, she had already been in her night clothes though and crawls into bed. Directly in the middle if not an arm or a foot stretched onto his side. 

She’s greedy when it comes to little comforts, like sprawling wide on the soft ticking of their bed or keeping the window shut so they may sleep in a hot box all night…

Robb wants the night chill, it’s invigorating... 

She can sense his hesitation, “the Harvest Feast is tomorrow, sleep.” She commands from her pillow. 

_ Sleep. _ Sleep doesn’t exist anymore, that’s when his  _ passenger  _ wakes and he is helpless.

Robb joins her in time, giving her the little comfort she needs to get by. Holding her close he smells the lilac in her hair. She is nice to be around, but irritating at the same time.

For as tired as he is, he’ll leave those conflicting thoughts at that. She’s nice, but not, and he can live with those terms…. he thinks anyway. 

Her little hand curls around his arm, and he’s already getting too hot. The heat from her, from the crackling fire, it’s enough to make his skin itch. 

He begins to kick the furs off of him, but she turns to still him. She's… ridiculously close. Robb can’t run from those quandary eyes now. 

“I am grateful…” she starts and Robb shakes his head to stop her.

“You don’t need to say that.” He shushes but she’s there again, willing her voice to be heard. 

“It’s important for me to,” she says and smiles a little. Her hand comes back to dote on his cheek. Robb closes his eyes at the touch. “You’re kind to me,” he hears from her, “and that means everything to me right now.” 

Oh, he wished the break in her voice didn’t affect him so. The pang in his chest pushed his eyes back open, his wife looks so soft in the hearths glow. She always looks so soft.

Robb mirrors her, his knuckles coming up to her cheek to brush back some loose silver tendrils. She nuzzles past his hand, into the crook of his neck and they fit together like some strange puzzle. He holds her, not unlike nights before, but it feels different. 

There’s an odd crinkle between them. Robb thinks to ignore it, but it’s not long before Daenerys leans away from him and conjures a parchment she had tucked away. 

“What’s that?” 

“A letter from home, a letter from King’s Landing.” She rectifies. “I get them every so often, each more unpleasant from the last.” She pouts to stop incoming tears, “but I keep them.” 

“Why?” 

She shrugs, “it feels wrong to let them go.” 

_ The small comforts _ . Daenerys may try to quell the aching she has for her old home, but she’s going about it the wrong way.

Robb takes the beaten up letter and tosses it away, it doesn’t matter what’s on it, it doesn’t belong between them in their bed. He won’t have her clinging to something that makes her look this broken. 

Robb lays the dead weight of his arm back over her and she settles back down, her body relaxed. “I think you should let them go.” 

“I think, from now on, I will.” 

He can’t think of a time where she was so easy to agree with him. Perhaps she’s just as tired as he is. 

Her fingertips are back on him, grazing his temple, lightly tangling in his hair… it’s nice.

“You’re a good husband. I should say that more often.” 

Feeling more content than he has in a while, Robb leans forward and kisses his wife. It was the most genuine he’s felt with her in their time together and it was short and simple. 

And for the first time in a while, it brought true, contented sleep. His passenger took a night off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going forward chapter length may vary from short to long. The planned chapters coming up will be from Daenerys (Harvest Feast nonsense) and Arya at Riverrun if all goes well - - I hope this update was okay


End file.
